4.12.11
The week begins on Sunday evening. Already Sunday afternoon, as the sun is setting, I can feel the stress of the coming week. Strange, I don't think I enjoy the second half of Sunday as I do the second half of Thursday, when I know there's just one more day before the current leg of this marathon comes to an end, and there will be a day and a half to realx and walk around the capital city.
This past week I corresponded with a friend about the conflict between Israel and Iran. I was playing the devil's advocate, trying to argue against Israel's right to preemptive war, if not taking the side of Iran outright. Of course, I don't think Iran, or anyone else, has the right to use a nuclear weapon against another country or people, but I'm confused about who has the right to have nuclear weapons in the first place. The west gladly exports everything it produces, from Hollywood blockbusters, to Apple technology and fast food, and even miniskirts - if you allow your wives to dress a little lightly. We'll also give you our weapons, just not our best ones. In fact, if you try to reproduce our most powerful weapons, then we'll sanction you to kingdom come, and even, as has been the case before with Iraq, and now with Iran, we may wage war on you.
Why are some countries allowed to have very powerful weapons, but not others? It's simple psychology again. Weapons give people power over others. For some reason people like power, so to retain it they ensure that their weapons don't end up in the hands of others. The latter are driven to spite their superiors by obtaining the power at whatever cost, just like a toddler goes after his bigger brother who's playing with a new toy. If the bigger brother comes upon an even better toy, then the toddler gets what he originally wanted, but alas, big brother is already playing with something more attractive. Maybe in this global case, the better toy might be a missile defense system. Even if Iran gets its weapon, and is crazy enough to try to use it, as my friend is convinced is the case, maybe missile defense will come through and save the day as it has been so expensively designed to do.
In any case, I don't think a preemptive attack is justified, even if we could be sure that Iran would use a weapon against Isreal, should they succeed in building one. I think attacking first would play right into the hands of President Ahmadinejad. Judging from his aggressive language, he wants to go to war with Israel. At the same time, it's clear that if he initiates the attack, he'll have no international support, and will be finished. I understand that Iran isn't very popular even among members of the League of Arab nations. If, on the other hand, a military superpower from the west engages Iran preemptively, Iran might be able to count on support from other countries, Russia among others.
Russia doesn't like what's been happening militarily over the past decade. Iraq is a joke, Afghanistan a more justified joke (I'm projecting my own views, but Russians would agree with me), and, regarding more recent military history, it seems that very many Russians sympathise with the fallen regime in Libya. They understand that Libyans were formerly the best-off citizens of Africa. They had a good educational and medical system. It's a mystery why some people in that country would have wanted a revolt. The ellicited conclusion: it must be part of the West's grand evil scheme. Of course, not all Russians believe what they see on Russian T.V., but that such views are shown here is a reflection of what the government believes.
And now there's been a little muscle flexing from Russia in answer to the NATO deployment of its missle defense system throughout Europe. I heard President Medvedev say this past week, in what I found a rather threatening tone, that he has ordered the deployment of nuclear warheads in Kaliningrad. Maybe I missunderstood him. I still don't understand everything in this country. Maybe he was warning that he would feel forced to order their deployment, but hasn't gone so far yet.
I was at the museum of the Gulag today, and there I came across a Pravda newspaper article from the week of the Nazi invasion in 1941. I've understood recently that there is some discrepency among historians regarding the extent of the roles each side played in defeating Htiler, but noone disputes that the Nazi's invaded the Soviet Union after promising Stalin that they wouldn't. Jumping forward seventy years, here comes America tromping throughout Europe with their state-of-the-art missle defense system, allegedly breaking a previous agreement with Russia regarding the extent of such deployment, but at the same time promising Russia that the U.S. would never dream of attacking Russian soil, and that the defense system is directed towards Iran, yes, even the missile defense base being deployed in Poland ... I think everyone should understand if Russian reactions to NATO's missle defense deployment in Europe come across as a little high-strung. They've heard these promises before, and judging from Washington's past decade of international policy, there are not many reasons why Russia should be any more trusting now then they were in 1941.
As a matter of fact, the west should be happy that Russians don't think like Americans, a country that attacks first and asks questions later. If preemptive military action were the accepted policy among other countries with huge military forces, Russia among others, I don't know how long the world would last.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
20.11.11
Within the past two weeks I read an article about excalating aggression between Israel and Iran. The Israeli minister of war was calling for military action against Iran, who was allegedly still working on getting an atomic bomb. Of course, Israel couldn't commit such a harsh move without the support of the U.S., and so the minister indicated that the time may have come for their allies to keep past promises.
If Iraq hadn't have happened, maybe Iran would be in trouble. As it is, Bush is the boy who called wolf in regards to the prevention of nuclear and chemical weapon proliferation, and one would think the world would not quickly forget his empty reasons for going to Iraq, nor the results that have come of it. On the other hand, the IAEA (international atomic energy agency) has since released information regarding Iran's atomic energy program. Evidently Iran's nuclear scientists might be up to no good.
I asked some of my students what should be done. What should the U.S. do in this tricky situation? One of them said that we should put the Iranians out of their misery and just give them a few nuclear bombs, that is, as a present, so that they don't have to figure out how to make them anymore. I laughed at this. The student has a point. An outsider who is not tied up in the religious conflict of the middle east almost can't help but sympathise a little with the Iranian government. They are understandably indignant that so many other countries in the world have nuclear capabilities, but they don't. Why shouldn't they? What makes the U.S. or Israel so much better than Iran that those countries should have such a weapon's arsenal but they not? One almost doesn't need weapons inspectors from the U.N. or whatever organization to figure out that Iran is in fact working on nuclear weapons - it all follows from simple psychological principles, applicable to any two year-old boy or girl who sees their peer with a new toy.
Now if Iran does manage to build a nuclear weapon, would they be crazy enough to use it, as some members of the Israeli administration would like us to think? Part of me really doubts it, another part isn't sure. I want to refer to another psychological principle, one that kept humanity safe throughout the cold war - that people don't do things that lead to their own destruction. However, this might not apply to Mr. A (my nickname for the President of Iran), like it didn't apply to the people who crashed planes into the World Trade Center. They were a sort of religious exception to the rule. The thing is, those people believed that there were flying to a better place, a paradise where they would be praised as heroes for killing thousands of whom they perceived as their enemy. Mr. A has gone so far as to deny established historical events, but is he crazy enough to destroy himself by attacking Israel?
Suddham Hussein was a supposedly secular guy. Maybe he was the one we really didn't have to worry about. Just like we haven't thought twice about North Korea, who tested their first nuclear weapons a few years after the start of the Iraq war (the justification of which had already been conveniently forgotten). North Korea must have been very proud of themselves, but when the rest of the world simply shrugged their shoulders, their accomplishment lost its glamour. North Korea, depsite how strange they may seem, are nevertheless smart enough to realize that they can never use their newly acquired toy against anybody. Psychology comes through again. Why can't Israel take a lesson from South Korea? Rather than show fear, maybe they should yawn and sigh when Iran gloriously declares that they have tested their first nuclear weapon. To be fair, I imagine South Korea doesn't really take North Korean capabilities so lightly, but at least you don't hear about their security woes as much as you do of Israel's.
Anyway, shouldn't Israel be more concerned with the governments that arise in the area after the Arab Spring?
27.11.11
I thought a bit more about Iraq and Iran today. Suddham Hussein, as terrible a man as people say he was, comes across like a pussy cat in comparison to Mr. A from Iran. When the west accused Hussein of hiding or building weapons of mass destruction, he held up his hands and declared that he was innocent, and I understand that he was telling the truth. Now as the west starts the same smear campaign against Iran, Mr. A replies a little more agressively. I heard that he is quoted as saying that if anyone attacks Iran, then the enemies of Islam will become history. Those are real fighting words, not something you want to hear if you don't want to be in another war.
Relations between the U.S. and Russia deteriorated a little this week as well. Over here the media is saying NATO has begun placing missile defense systems throughout Europe, in places where that they were supposed to leave alone. Russia doesn't understand how a missile defense base in Poland can serve do defend against a potential attack from Iran, as has recently been claimed by NATO. Russia is so upset over the matter, that President Medvedev has ordered some special missiles, known as Iskander, to be placed in Kaliningrad, a territorial island of Russia in Europe, on the border north of Poland. Evidently, these missiles aren't as susceptible to missle defense as ones that come from far away, so now Russia can feel as ease again, just in case they need to launch missiles at their neighbors to the immediate west.
It's not that anyone thinks such a horrible thing will happen, but you never know when you'll need to throw missiles at people, be they who they may. This is all the more the case when everyone is upset about the economy. With emotions charged all over the world, conditions are ripe for war. The formula is simple. More emotion means less logic, and in the absense of logic nations try to solve their problems militarily.
I've landed on another psychological principle. Humans are animals, particularly when they listen to their emotions. When you're emotional, it's so easy to forget that your friendly neighbor, who speaks some strange foreign language, is actually human, and has a right to live. Then all of a sudden you make up concepts like 'savage,' 'communist,' 'enemy of the state,' 'untermenschen,' and now 'terrorist' and even 'serpents of evil' (Bush was so creative), and all of a sudden war and even genecide seems like a logical step. It's a strange logic, however, that leads to the conclusion that a people doesn't have the right to live, because whomever your fighting is likely to come to the same conclusion about you. The one who is right is the one who survives. That's an animal's logic.
I'm torn about the Russian response to NATO's missile defense deployment. If things are as the media over here says they are, which is questionable (as is the news of any one media source), then I can understand the Russian reaction. If an acquaintance of yours, someone who was your sworn enemy a few weeks ago (decades on the global scale), starts to tie your hands behind your back and tells you not to worry because they would never think of striking their friends, how do you think you would react? You would not want you hands to be tied! Imagine if Russia had a developed missile defense system that they started to deploy in Cuba and Canada, justifying the move with the claim that Guatamala had been secretly developing weapons of mass destruction and the means to launch them, how would the U.S. react in such a situation?
On the other hand, the whole exchange strikes me as two sides flexing their military muscles at one another. It's a strange world where people compete with one another by means of the capability to destroy things. Why can't people show off their might by building a really efficient windmill or solar cell? Israel and Palestine should have a poetry constest. The best poem wins disputed territory. Or how about a soccer game to decide who gets what land?
Within the past two weeks I read an article about excalating aggression between Israel and Iran. The Israeli minister of war was calling for military action against Iran, who was allegedly still working on getting an atomic bomb. Of course, Israel couldn't commit such a harsh move without the support of the U.S., and so the minister indicated that the time may have come for their allies to keep past promises.
If Iraq hadn't have happened, maybe Iran would be in trouble. As it is, Bush is the boy who called wolf in regards to the prevention of nuclear and chemical weapon proliferation, and one would think the world would not quickly forget his empty reasons for going to Iraq, nor the results that have come of it. On the other hand, the IAEA (international atomic energy agency) has since released information regarding Iran's atomic energy program. Evidently Iran's nuclear scientists might be up to no good.
I asked some of my students what should be done. What should the U.S. do in this tricky situation? One of them said that we should put the Iranians out of their misery and just give them a few nuclear bombs, that is, as a present, so that they don't have to figure out how to make them anymore. I laughed at this. The student has a point. An outsider who is not tied up in the religious conflict of the middle east almost can't help but sympathise a little with the Iranian government. They are understandably indignant that so many other countries in the world have nuclear capabilities, but they don't. Why shouldn't they? What makes the U.S. or Israel so much better than Iran that those countries should have such a weapon's arsenal but they not? One almost doesn't need weapons inspectors from the U.N. or whatever organization to figure out that Iran is in fact working on nuclear weapons - it all follows from simple psychological principles, applicable to any two year-old boy or girl who sees their peer with a new toy.
Now if Iran does manage to build a nuclear weapon, would they be crazy enough to use it, as some members of the Israeli administration would like us to think? Part of me really doubts it, another part isn't sure. I want to refer to another psychological principle, one that kept humanity safe throughout the cold war - that people don't do things that lead to their own destruction. However, this might not apply to Mr. A (my nickname for the President of Iran), like it didn't apply to the people who crashed planes into the World Trade Center. They were a sort of religious exception to the rule. The thing is, those people believed that there were flying to a better place, a paradise where they would be praised as heroes for killing thousands of whom they perceived as their enemy. Mr. A has gone so far as to deny established historical events, but is he crazy enough to destroy himself by attacking Israel?
Suddham Hussein was a supposedly secular guy. Maybe he was the one we really didn't have to worry about. Just like we haven't thought twice about North Korea, who tested their first nuclear weapons a few years after the start of the Iraq war (the justification of which had already been conveniently forgotten). North Korea must have been very proud of themselves, but when the rest of the world simply shrugged their shoulders, their accomplishment lost its glamour. North Korea, depsite how strange they may seem, are nevertheless smart enough to realize that they can never use their newly acquired toy against anybody. Psychology comes through again. Why can't Israel take a lesson from South Korea? Rather than show fear, maybe they should yawn and sigh when Iran gloriously declares that they have tested their first nuclear weapon. To be fair, I imagine South Korea doesn't really take North Korean capabilities so lightly, but at least you don't hear about their security woes as much as you do of Israel's.
Anyway, shouldn't Israel be more concerned with the governments that arise in the area after the Arab Spring?
27.11.11
I thought a bit more about Iraq and Iran today. Suddham Hussein, as terrible a man as people say he was, comes across like a pussy cat in comparison to Mr. A from Iran. When the west accused Hussein of hiding or building weapons of mass destruction, he held up his hands and declared that he was innocent, and I understand that he was telling the truth. Now as the west starts the same smear campaign against Iran, Mr. A replies a little more agressively. I heard that he is quoted as saying that if anyone attacks Iran, then the enemies of Islam will become history. Those are real fighting words, not something you want to hear if you don't want to be in another war.
Relations between the U.S. and Russia deteriorated a little this week as well. Over here the media is saying NATO has begun placing missile defense systems throughout Europe, in places where that they were supposed to leave alone. Russia doesn't understand how a missile defense base in Poland can serve do defend against a potential attack from Iran, as has recently been claimed by NATO. Russia is so upset over the matter, that President Medvedev has ordered some special missiles, known as Iskander, to be placed in Kaliningrad, a territorial island of Russia in Europe, on the border north of Poland. Evidently, these missiles aren't as susceptible to missle defense as ones that come from far away, so now Russia can feel as ease again, just in case they need to launch missiles at their neighbors to the immediate west.
It's not that anyone thinks such a horrible thing will happen, but you never know when you'll need to throw missiles at people, be they who they may. This is all the more the case when everyone is upset about the economy. With emotions charged all over the world, conditions are ripe for war. The formula is simple. More emotion means less logic, and in the absense of logic nations try to solve their problems militarily.
I've landed on another psychological principle. Humans are animals, particularly when they listen to their emotions. When you're emotional, it's so easy to forget that your friendly neighbor, who speaks some strange foreign language, is actually human, and has a right to live. Then all of a sudden you make up concepts like 'savage,' 'communist,' 'enemy of the state,' 'untermenschen,' and now 'terrorist' and even 'serpents of evil' (Bush was so creative), and all of a sudden war and even genecide seems like a logical step. It's a strange logic, however, that leads to the conclusion that a people doesn't have the right to live, because whomever your fighting is likely to come to the same conclusion about you. The one who is right is the one who survives. That's an animal's logic.
I'm torn about the Russian response to NATO's missile defense deployment. If things are as the media over here says they are, which is questionable (as is the news of any one media source), then I can understand the Russian reaction. If an acquaintance of yours, someone who was your sworn enemy a few weeks ago (decades on the global scale), starts to tie your hands behind your back and tells you not to worry because they would never think of striking their friends, how do you think you would react? You would not want you hands to be tied! Imagine if Russia had a developed missile defense system that they started to deploy in Cuba and Canada, justifying the move with the claim that Guatamala had been secretly developing weapons of mass destruction and the means to launch them, how would the U.S. react in such a situation?
On the other hand, the whole exchange strikes me as two sides flexing their military muscles at one another. It's a strange world where people compete with one another by means of the capability to destroy things. Why can't people show off their might by building a really efficient windmill or solar cell? Israel and Palestine should have a poetry constest. The best poem wins disputed territory. Or how about a soccer game to decide who gets what land?
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
13.11.11
I made a few connections today. The first came after I spotted another castle not far from Prospect Mira. By the way, I just call them castles, I'm not sure if that's a standard title among Russians. But these buildings all look like each other. They are large, ornate, and I think were built under Stalin. For Stalin.
I was walking towards downtown from the ring metro station on Prospect Mira. I had just visited a small bookstore at the olympic complex, and wanted to make my way towards the Lubyanka station, which I knew was somewhere in the direction of the Kremlin, when, as I was crossing a street, I caught a glimpse of the top of a tall building not far to my left. I recognized the castle concrete, but what gave it away was the soviet star on the building's pinnacle. I was torn, since castles often stand near large squares which have metro stations, and the location of metro stations is always good to know. There might also be some bookstores, or a place that sells almonds for cheap.
I wanted to visit Lubyanka because a map on the fridge in my apartment indicated that there was a big bookstore there. Yet I had wanted to explore another area, which, after thinking a bit, I estimated to be in the direction of this castle I found. The map said that there was another Ashan in that area, a French chain store, sort of like Costco, where they sell some audiobooks, roasted almonds, and other things at a good price. What if that castle, not far away at all, ended up being what I meant to be the day's final destination, wouldn't it be better to go that direction first, and worry about Lubyanka later?
I turned towards the castle, and after a few minutes of wandering through some side-streets, where large buildings on either side blocked my view in almost every direction, I suddenly found myself next to the soviet relic. They had turned it into a Hilton Hotel. I crossed the street to look for a metro station and gather my bearings, went under a bridge, and I was suddenly struck with dejavu. I had been there before. Not since my most recent arrival, but within the past few years. I then realized that I had reached the Kasanski train station, where I'd arrived on a bus from Rostov a year ago last August. At that time I had two giant suitcases with me, and probably was carrying my big blue backpack filled with books; all I wanted to know after getting off the bus was where the nearest metro station was, so that I could get to my hostel and not have to carry my luggage around with me. Yesterday, however, I had time to look around. The Kasanski train station is located on Komsomolski square, which is the home of not only one, but three train stations, including Lenegradski (for trains to St. Petersburg) and Yaroslavski (for trains heading towards Yaroslavl).
Komsomolski is an interesting word. It's an abbreviation of Kommunisticheski Cayuz Molodyezji - The Communist Youth Union, I guess sort of like the Hitler Jugend, but on the other side of the front. Honestly, I have no right to compare the two, since I don't know anything about either one. It's only my first impression that they might be similar to one another, basically propoganda machines aimed towards the most susceptible members of society. Either one sort of reminds me of a party organization out of 1984.
I continued in the same direction to see if I would come across the Ashan that I suspected lie in my path. I saw a sign for it, but decided not to continue walking that way. I might have walked a long way along a highway before reaching anywhere, so I gave up on Ashan for that day and turned in a direction I thought might lead me back to Lubyanka. It didn't. Instead I found myself approaching a corner I had crossed two weeks prior (this was the second 'connection' of the day, the first being the Kasanski train station at Komsomolski Square). I was dismayed to find myself there, still rather far from downtown, but the sun hadn't set yet, so I bought a few bananas at a cushy grocery store, devowered them and continued walking. I passed the street that I had taken last time to get to a castle at the "Red Gates" metro station, and this time continued straight ahead, convinced that I wouldn't go too far without landing somewhere in the center of town. Soon I saw a sign for the China Town station, only three kilometers ahead. The streets became livelier the further I went, and eventually I reached the entrance to the metro station, only I didn't recognize where I was, maybe because the sun had already set. I was at a large intersection. There was some sort of monument at the end of a park to my left, a large building across the street in front of me and extending to my right. There was no way to cross the street but by the underpass which led to the metro entrance.
I wasn't discouraged about not making a final connection that day. I could've explored a little and found a spot I recognized, but I was tired. Honestly, I think the China Town metro station is one of the most expansive in that it has many different exits rather far from one another. I entered the underpass and noticed some relatively ornate tiling on the walls and pillars - oriental I guess. I chose not to explore the underground passageways to find a tunnel I recognized, but I entered the metro and headed home.
14.11.11
I wonder if there's anything analogous to the Komsomol or Hitlerjugend in America. Some church organizations come to mind, but that's not as connected to the government as the Soviet and Nazi organizations were. Maybe that's the only difference. In America, there is still a separation of church and state, where as in the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany there was no church, there was only the state, or maybe it's more accurate to say that the two were combined into one.
Speaking of 1984, I up and bought a book of the same genre yesterday, called "We" by Evgeni Zamyatin. It supposedly was one of the first antiutopian novels around and inspired Orwell's later novel. I started it last night and read a little more this morning before preparing for work. It's very interesting. So far the protagonist is explaining his society to a member of our normal world, a world that hasn't yet been cleansed of the virulent concept of freedom. He's not belligerent though, rather sympathetic. I expect his views might change. He might become a rebel and realize that freedom isn't such a bad thing. Or maybe only the reader will come to that understanding.
I also bought a collection of Hemingway novels in Russian. Usually, I like to read things in their original language if I can, but this book only cost a dollar, so I figured why not. I probably wouldn't be able to find any one of his novels in America, outside of the ones I might find at home, for such a good price, let alone a whole collection. I had seen a Woody Allen movie, called "Midnight in Paris" that same afternoon. Hemingway plays a supporting role among other famous artists from the past. He came across like an American Remarque, the author of "All Clear on the Western Front" - a war-torn romantic who's convinced that civilian life has no meaning outside of booze and women. I like Remarque, so maybe I'll like Hemingway too.
15.11.11
I felt like crap this morning as one of the school administrators took me to my first lesson at a local business. I don't like teaching at businesses. Two years ago, when I was working in Rostov, I taught someone on the top end of the business hierachy at the central Sberbank of the Rostov region. The student was nice, but I didn't like having to commute out there every week to give her a lesson at her time and location of choice. How demeaning!. My current arrangement is not much better in that it's not at a time or place I would really prefer, but then nobody asks me what I would prefer.
Nor should they. I honestly shouldn't complain, since I'm still working under-hours, and everything is being done according to the contract. Furthermore, the student I had today was a nice guy, and he told me he wasn't as interested in business English as he was in general English, which I find often much more interesting than business English. Also, if the weather isn't too bad, I won't have to take public transportation there, the office is a nice long walk from my home, and I enjoy long walks! So I can try to make the best out of a new situation, even if deep down I still wish for one work location without to much commuting.
I bought that collection of Hemingway novels at the end of a nice Sunday. No, the weather wasn't too nice. It was cloudy and cold, but any weather you can walk in is good enough. And walk I did! I started at an unknown station outside the metro ring that encloses downtown Moscow. I've only started a few of my trips outside this ring, but as I become more and more familiar with the city, I'll probably start further and further away from the center. I was looking for another Ashan market in the south-eastern part of the city, on the yellow metro line. Upon exiting the station, I couldn't find any directions to Ashan, which is surprising since it is a pretty big attraction for anyone living in the area. I did, however, see a sign that said "To the House of Books," - a local bookstore chain with many branches in the Moscow area. So even if I didn't find Ashan, I figured, I might get lost in a house of books, and that will certainly make the trip worthwhile. Unfortunately I couldn't find either store after reaching the street. I walked down one way, hoping to find the bookstore, passed a movie theater I had heard of before, stopped inside to look at the schedule and prices, left, and eventually came to the mall that contained Ashan. The bookstore was nowhere to be seen.
Ashan is so big though, that they also sell many books, both printed and audio. I browsed through the audio section, found some collections of radio dramas, which I often listen to on the way to work and back, as well as some stories by Hemingway. This was the first time of three that day that I would encounter this man. I didn't buy any literature, only roasted almonds, raw peanuts from China, and some roasted pumpkin seeds, which I thought might go nicely in my breakfast. (They don't - they need to be shelled first!)
I left Ashan and set off in the direction that I thought the Kremlin lie, and wasn't mistaken. Moscow highways are constructed in an interesting fashion, with three rings of highway going around the city, one circling downtown and two more each further outside the city, and several highways going to and from the center of Moscow in different directions, each situated about thirty or forty degrees from one another in a complete circle. The ring highways have a few names, some as simple as the first, second or third ring (also known as the MKAD), while some of the radial highways are named after the cities they are directed towards, similar to the trainstations: There's the Kiev highway, the Yaroslav and Leningrad highways. There are other highways too, with names from historical figures or events, but I don't know all of them yet.
After leaving Ashan, I walked towards what I concluded was the second ring highway. I went under it along one of the radial highways and continued in the direction of downtown Moscow. The walk wasn't very pretty. I was happy that there was space for me to walk a bit away from the highway, where the air was a little fresher. Soon I came to a metro station which confirmed I was headed in the right direction. It was the Ploschtad' Il'icha - the Square of the Son of Ilya. I don't know who Ilya was, but this was his son's square. There wasn't much to see, as far as I could tell. Or maybe I was walking too quickly. I was encouraged by the sight of a castle in the distance, so there was no holding me back. I wasn't too far now!
You have to be careful with those castles, because there are quite a few of them, I'd say ten throughout the whole city. If you're far away, or among tall buildings, you're liable to lose sight of the one you want, and you might get disoriented if you unexpectedly spot another one. Was that the one you had wanted to reach? From the Square of the Son of Ilya there was a rival castle visible far down one avenue, and I wasn't sure if that was the one I had seen when approaching the square. I turned a corner in the opposite direction, just to be sure, and found my original target, closer than before.
As I continued towards this castle, I recognized some of the ornaments near the top. Of course there was the Soviet star on top of a long spire, but also four ovular shaped bulbs, like eggs, with ribboned stone wrapped around them. Furthermore, I could also see one of the four sub-structures standing at one of the central structure's corners. Neither the eggs, nor the substructures are universal among the Moscow castles. What I had before me was the castle just south of China Town. It was a chinese weekend, I guess.
After reaching the castle, whereby I made another connection as I crossed a road I had gone along two weeks before to reach the Kurski train station from the south, I had twenty minutes left to make a three o'clock movie at a theater on the other side of the Kremlin. I figured it would take me ten minutes to get to the red square, and then ten minutes to reach the theater from there. It ended up being about twenty minutes for each of those two legs. But it turned out that the movie I had planned on seeing started not at three but at two, so I wouldn't have made it anyway, but, as luck would have it, I was just in time for Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris."
I had first heard of this movie when I was in San Francisco on the day I picked up my visa. I could have seen it then, but for some reason chose another movie instead. That was a good choice, I guess, because I got to see Allen's film on the flight to Moscow. Was it worth seeing again in Russian? Sure, why not. I figured that I had walked a lot and could use a breather, as well as a little food: I had just bought some popcorn at Alexander's garden, next to the Red Square, with the intent of watching one movie or another.
It's a good movie. There is a thought-provoking story with interesting characters, including artists from the past (the main character travels through time), among whom are none other than Ernest Hemingway, who plays such an interesting role that the viewer almost can't help but want to read one of his books.
I left the movie theater satisfied with what I had seen, with fresh legs, ready to walk some more. I mosied along Tverskaya boulevard towards Pushkin square, where I turned toward the Kremlin to reach a bookstore that I frequent every once in awhile. I often go there to check out audiobooks, but on my lastest visit I had found a rather large used-book section. This is where I had first noticed Zamyatin's "We," and as the thought of reading the novel still interested me a week later, I thought I might finally buy the book if it was still there. I often give myself a week's security before buying things I don't really need, so that I don't get carried away with whatever might catch my eye. The book was still there, I noticed that it also contained another story I had heard of many times, called God's Whip, or maybe the Whip of God, so when I glanced through a few random pages and confirmed that I understood enough to spark my interest, I bought it for two hundred rubles (almost seven dollars).
I left the shop and walked towards the Kremlin. I didn't pass it, but turned down a very European looking street which starts with two theaters, one of them for students of drama, as well as several restaurants featuring all sorts of international cuisine. This street goes in a quarter circle around the center of Moscow, that is, the Kremlin, which is aprroximately five hundred meters away, for about a kilometer before running into the former KGB building at an intersection with Prospect Mira. Along this cobble-stone street, after the restuarants, theaters, some expensive clothing stores you'll reach stores of more useful things, among them two small branches of the House of Books, one of them for pedagogs, the other, further down the street, featuring foreign literature. I suppose both should be right down my alley, and although I glanced in each one, I found the foreign one much more interesting.
I started studying Spanish (again; for the first time since high school) last summer. My study isn't very well rounded, in that I haven't spoken nor written much of anything in Spanish, I have only been reading and listening to whatever comes my way. The only Spanish audio I have which is simple enough that I might understand a few words is the first Harry Potter novel. Written literature, on the other hand, is much more plentiful, even in such a far-off place as Russia. You wouldn't think that Spanish is very popular here, and you would be correct, it's not! The nevertheless somewhat broad selection of Spanish material available in Moscow is testament to the breadth of what you might find at the House of Books. They had a Spanish edition of some of the most famous Russian authors, like Dostoevski, Tolstoi, and Pushkin, as well as Spanish classics by Servantes and others. I had already been struggling through a collection of short stories by Chexov in Spanish, and at this branch I found another small collection of his stories that I might retrieve if it passes a few weeks' security test, and if I finish the first collection I have. I left without buying anything, but I will certainly return, if not for my own sake, then for family members who might also be interested in certain languages and/or looking for original works of foreign authors.
I followed the European street to the KGB building, which is coincidentally located right next to the Lubyanka metro station. I had been trying to get there all weekend! I found two bookstores nearby, and quickly explored both of them. The first one didn't have much to explore. It was a small room with used books stacked all over the place. I walked around, not sure if I would spot anything interesting, when I ran into Hemingway yet again. There were two collections there, both in Russian, one of his short stories, but also including a novel or two, another primarily of novels, but including also a few of his short stories. After reading a few paragraphs and finding the writing understandable, I took the novel one. At 35 rubles (about a buck), it was just meant to be. I continued into a much larger bookstore nearby, perused the audiobook section, but didn't get anything. I got on the metro at Lubyanka, and went home.
16.11.11
I had another lesson at the same business today. Turns out, I'll be working there four days a week, twice a week individually with two different students. Today's student doesn't speak as well as the one I had yesterday, whom I won't be teaching at all, unfortunately. But whatever she lacked in proficiency she made up for in enthusiasm. It was refreshing to see how much she wants to learn. We got to know each other a little bit before talking about a few verb tenses. I didn't ask her about literature, she asked me. I was delighted with her question, told her about my favorite genres and authors, and she then told me about her favorite author: Ernest Hemingway. Incidentally, she is also a fan of Remarque, as well as European art of the early twentieth century. I told her she should go see "Midnight in Paris."
I made a few connections today. The first came after I spotted another castle not far from Prospect Mira. By the way, I just call them castles, I'm not sure if that's a standard title among Russians. But these buildings all look like each other. They are large, ornate, and I think were built under Stalin. For Stalin.
I was walking towards downtown from the ring metro station on Prospect Mira. I had just visited a small bookstore at the olympic complex, and wanted to make my way towards the Lubyanka station, which I knew was somewhere in the direction of the Kremlin, when, as I was crossing a street, I caught a glimpse of the top of a tall building not far to my left. I recognized the castle concrete, but what gave it away was the soviet star on the building's pinnacle. I was torn, since castles often stand near large squares which have metro stations, and the location of metro stations is always good to know. There might also be some bookstores, or a place that sells almonds for cheap.
I wanted to visit Lubyanka because a map on the fridge in my apartment indicated that there was a big bookstore there. Yet I had wanted to explore another area, which, after thinking a bit, I estimated to be in the direction of this castle I found. The map said that there was another Ashan in that area, a French chain store, sort of like Costco, where they sell some audiobooks, roasted almonds, and other things at a good price. What if that castle, not far away at all, ended up being what I meant to be the day's final destination, wouldn't it be better to go that direction first, and worry about Lubyanka later?
I turned towards the castle, and after a few minutes of wandering through some side-streets, where large buildings on either side blocked my view in almost every direction, I suddenly found myself next to the soviet relic. They had turned it into a Hilton Hotel. I crossed the street to look for a metro station and gather my bearings, went under a bridge, and I was suddenly struck with dejavu. I had been there before. Not since my most recent arrival, but within the past few years. I then realized that I had reached the Kasanski train station, where I'd arrived on a bus from Rostov a year ago last August. At that time I had two giant suitcases with me, and probably was carrying my big blue backpack filled with books; all I wanted to know after getting off the bus was where the nearest metro station was, so that I could get to my hostel and not have to carry my luggage around with me. Yesterday, however, I had time to look around. The Kasanski train station is located on Komsomolski square, which is the home of not only one, but three train stations, including Lenegradski (for trains to St. Petersburg) and Yaroslavski (for trains heading towards Yaroslavl).
Komsomolski is an interesting word. It's an abbreviation of Kommunisticheski Cayuz Molodyezji - The Communist Youth Union, I guess sort of like the Hitler Jugend, but on the other side of the front. Honestly, I have no right to compare the two, since I don't know anything about either one. It's only my first impression that they might be similar to one another, basically propoganda machines aimed towards the most susceptible members of society. Either one sort of reminds me of a party organization out of 1984.
I continued in the same direction to see if I would come across the Ashan that I suspected lie in my path. I saw a sign for it, but decided not to continue walking that way. I might have walked a long way along a highway before reaching anywhere, so I gave up on Ashan for that day and turned in a direction I thought might lead me back to Lubyanka. It didn't. Instead I found myself approaching a corner I had crossed two weeks prior (this was the second 'connection' of the day, the first being the Kasanski train station at Komsomolski Square). I was dismayed to find myself there, still rather far from downtown, but the sun hadn't set yet, so I bought a few bananas at a cushy grocery store, devowered them and continued walking. I passed the street that I had taken last time to get to a castle at the "Red Gates" metro station, and this time continued straight ahead, convinced that I wouldn't go too far without landing somewhere in the center of town. Soon I saw a sign for the China Town station, only three kilometers ahead. The streets became livelier the further I went, and eventually I reached the entrance to the metro station, only I didn't recognize where I was, maybe because the sun had already set. I was at a large intersection. There was some sort of monument at the end of a park to my left, a large building across the street in front of me and extending to my right. There was no way to cross the street but by the underpass which led to the metro entrance.
I wasn't discouraged about not making a final connection that day. I could've explored a little and found a spot I recognized, but I was tired. Honestly, I think the China Town metro station is one of the most expansive in that it has many different exits rather far from one another. I entered the underpass and noticed some relatively ornate tiling on the walls and pillars - oriental I guess. I chose not to explore the underground passageways to find a tunnel I recognized, but I entered the metro and headed home.
14.11.11
I wonder if there's anything analogous to the Komsomol or Hitlerjugend in America. Some church organizations come to mind, but that's not as connected to the government as the Soviet and Nazi organizations were. Maybe that's the only difference. In America, there is still a separation of church and state, where as in the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany there was no church, there was only the state, or maybe it's more accurate to say that the two were combined into one.
Speaking of 1984, I up and bought a book of the same genre yesterday, called "We" by Evgeni Zamyatin. It supposedly was one of the first antiutopian novels around and inspired Orwell's later novel. I started it last night and read a little more this morning before preparing for work. It's very interesting. So far the protagonist is explaining his society to a member of our normal world, a world that hasn't yet been cleansed of the virulent concept of freedom. He's not belligerent though, rather sympathetic. I expect his views might change. He might become a rebel and realize that freedom isn't such a bad thing. Or maybe only the reader will come to that understanding.
I also bought a collection of Hemingway novels in Russian. Usually, I like to read things in their original language if I can, but this book only cost a dollar, so I figured why not. I probably wouldn't be able to find any one of his novels in America, outside of the ones I might find at home, for such a good price, let alone a whole collection. I had seen a Woody Allen movie, called "Midnight in Paris" that same afternoon. Hemingway plays a supporting role among other famous artists from the past. He came across like an American Remarque, the author of "All Clear on the Western Front" - a war-torn romantic who's convinced that civilian life has no meaning outside of booze and women. I like Remarque, so maybe I'll like Hemingway too.
15.11.11
I felt like crap this morning as one of the school administrators took me to my first lesson at a local business. I don't like teaching at businesses. Two years ago, when I was working in Rostov, I taught someone on the top end of the business hierachy at the central Sberbank of the Rostov region. The student was nice, but I didn't like having to commute out there every week to give her a lesson at her time and location of choice. How demeaning!. My current arrangement is not much better in that it's not at a time or place I would really prefer, but then nobody asks me what I would prefer.
Nor should they. I honestly shouldn't complain, since I'm still working under-hours, and everything is being done according to the contract. Furthermore, the student I had today was a nice guy, and he told me he wasn't as interested in business English as he was in general English, which I find often much more interesting than business English. Also, if the weather isn't too bad, I won't have to take public transportation there, the office is a nice long walk from my home, and I enjoy long walks! So I can try to make the best out of a new situation, even if deep down I still wish for one work location without to much commuting.
I bought that collection of Hemingway novels at the end of a nice Sunday. No, the weather wasn't too nice. It was cloudy and cold, but any weather you can walk in is good enough. And walk I did! I started at an unknown station outside the metro ring that encloses downtown Moscow. I've only started a few of my trips outside this ring, but as I become more and more familiar with the city, I'll probably start further and further away from the center. I was looking for another Ashan market in the south-eastern part of the city, on the yellow metro line. Upon exiting the station, I couldn't find any directions to Ashan, which is surprising since it is a pretty big attraction for anyone living in the area. I did, however, see a sign that said "To the House of Books," - a local bookstore chain with many branches in the Moscow area. So even if I didn't find Ashan, I figured, I might get lost in a house of books, and that will certainly make the trip worthwhile. Unfortunately I couldn't find either store after reaching the street. I walked down one way, hoping to find the bookstore, passed a movie theater I had heard of before, stopped inside to look at the schedule and prices, left, and eventually came to the mall that contained Ashan. The bookstore was nowhere to be seen.
Ashan is so big though, that they also sell many books, both printed and audio. I browsed through the audio section, found some collections of radio dramas, which I often listen to on the way to work and back, as well as some stories by Hemingway. This was the first time of three that day that I would encounter this man. I didn't buy any literature, only roasted almonds, raw peanuts from China, and some roasted pumpkin seeds, which I thought might go nicely in my breakfast. (They don't - they need to be shelled first!)
I left Ashan and set off in the direction that I thought the Kremlin lie, and wasn't mistaken. Moscow highways are constructed in an interesting fashion, with three rings of highway going around the city, one circling downtown and two more each further outside the city, and several highways going to and from the center of Moscow in different directions, each situated about thirty or forty degrees from one another in a complete circle. The ring highways have a few names, some as simple as the first, second or third ring (also known as the MKAD), while some of the radial highways are named after the cities they are directed towards, similar to the trainstations: There's the Kiev highway, the Yaroslav and Leningrad highways. There are other highways too, with names from historical figures or events, but I don't know all of them yet.
After leaving Ashan, I walked towards what I concluded was the second ring highway. I went under it along one of the radial highways and continued in the direction of downtown Moscow. The walk wasn't very pretty. I was happy that there was space for me to walk a bit away from the highway, where the air was a little fresher. Soon I came to a metro station which confirmed I was headed in the right direction. It was the Ploschtad' Il'icha - the Square of the Son of Ilya. I don't know who Ilya was, but this was his son's square. There wasn't much to see, as far as I could tell. Or maybe I was walking too quickly. I was encouraged by the sight of a castle in the distance, so there was no holding me back. I wasn't too far now!
You have to be careful with those castles, because there are quite a few of them, I'd say ten throughout the whole city. If you're far away, or among tall buildings, you're liable to lose sight of the one you want, and you might get disoriented if you unexpectedly spot another one. Was that the one you had wanted to reach? From the Square of the Son of Ilya there was a rival castle visible far down one avenue, and I wasn't sure if that was the one I had seen when approaching the square. I turned a corner in the opposite direction, just to be sure, and found my original target, closer than before.
As I continued towards this castle, I recognized some of the ornaments near the top. Of course there was the Soviet star on top of a long spire, but also four ovular shaped bulbs, like eggs, with ribboned stone wrapped around them. Furthermore, I could also see one of the four sub-structures standing at one of the central structure's corners. Neither the eggs, nor the substructures are universal among the Moscow castles. What I had before me was the castle just south of China Town. It was a chinese weekend, I guess.
After reaching the castle, whereby I made another connection as I crossed a road I had gone along two weeks before to reach the Kurski train station from the south, I had twenty minutes left to make a three o'clock movie at a theater on the other side of the Kremlin. I figured it would take me ten minutes to get to the red square, and then ten minutes to reach the theater from there. It ended up being about twenty minutes for each of those two legs. But it turned out that the movie I had planned on seeing started not at three but at two, so I wouldn't have made it anyway, but, as luck would have it, I was just in time for Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris."
I had first heard of this movie when I was in San Francisco on the day I picked up my visa. I could have seen it then, but for some reason chose another movie instead. That was a good choice, I guess, because I got to see Allen's film on the flight to Moscow. Was it worth seeing again in Russian? Sure, why not. I figured that I had walked a lot and could use a breather, as well as a little food: I had just bought some popcorn at Alexander's garden, next to the Red Square, with the intent of watching one movie or another.
It's a good movie. There is a thought-provoking story with interesting characters, including artists from the past (the main character travels through time), among whom are none other than Ernest Hemingway, who plays such an interesting role that the viewer almost can't help but want to read one of his books.
I left the movie theater satisfied with what I had seen, with fresh legs, ready to walk some more. I mosied along Tverskaya boulevard towards Pushkin square, where I turned toward the Kremlin to reach a bookstore that I frequent every once in awhile. I often go there to check out audiobooks, but on my lastest visit I had found a rather large used-book section. This is where I had first noticed Zamyatin's "We," and as the thought of reading the novel still interested me a week later, I thought I might finally buy the book if it was still there. I often give myself a week's security before buying things I don't really need, so that I don't get carried away with whatever might catch my eye. The book was still there, I noticed that it also contained another story I had heard of many times, called God's Whip, or maybe the Whip of God, so when I glanced through a few random pages and confirmed that I understood enough to spark my interest, I bought it for two hundred rubles (almost seven dollars).
I left the shop and walked towards the Kremlin. I didn't pass it, but turned down a very European looking street which starts with two theaters, one of them for students of drama, as well as several restaurants featuring all sorts of international cuisine. This street goes in a quarter circle around the center of Moscow, that is, the Kremlin, which is aprroximately five hundred meters away, for about a kilometer before running into the former KGB building at an intersection with Prospect Mira. Along this cobble-stone street, after the restuarants, theaters, some expensive clothing stores you'll reach stores of more useful things, among them two small branches of the House of Books, one of them for pedagogs, the other, further down the street, featuring foreign literature. I suppose both should be right down my alley, and although I glanced in each one, I found the foreign one much more interesting.
I started studying Spanish (again; for the first time since high school) last summer. My study isn't very well rounded, in that I haven't spoken nor written much of anything in Spanish, I have only been reading and listening to whatever comes my way. The only Spanish audio I have which is simple enough that I might understand a few words is the first Harry Potter novel. Written literature, on the other hand, is much more plentiful, even in such a far-off place as Russia. You wouldn't think that Spanish is very popular here, and you would be correct, it's not! The nevertheless somewhat broad selection of Spanish material available in Moscow is testament to the breadth of what you might find at the House of Books. They had a Spanish edition of some of the most famous Russian authors, like Dostoevski, Tolstoi, and Pushkin, as well as Spanish classics by Servantes and others. I had already been struggling through a collection of short stories by Chexov in Spanish, and at this branch I found another small collection of his stories that I might retrieve if it passes a few weeks' security test, and if I finish the first collection I have. I left without buying anything, but I will certainly return, if not for my own sake, then for family members who might also be interested in certain languages and/or looking for original works of foreign authors.
I followed the European street to the KGB building, which is coincidentally located right next to the Lubyanka metro station. I had been trying to get there all weekend! I found two bookstores nearby, and quickly explored both of them. The first one didn't have much to explore. It was a small room with used books stacked all over the place. I walked around, not sure if I would spot anything interesting, when I ran into Hemingway yet again. There were two collections there, both in Russian, one of his short stories, but also including a novel or two, another primarily of novels, but including also a few of his short stories. After reading a few paragraphs and finding the writing understandable, I took the novel one. At 35 rubles (about a buck), it was just meant to be. I continued into a much larger bookstore nearby, perused the audiobook section, but didn't get anything. I got on the metro at Lubyanka, and went home.
16.11.11
I had another lesson at the same business today. Turns out, I'll be working there four days a week, twice a week individually with two different students. Today's student doesn't speak as well as the one I had yesterday, whom I won't be teaching at all, unfortunately. But whatever she lacked in proficiency she made up for in enthusiasm. It was refreshing to see how much she wants to learn. We got to know each other a little bit before talking about a few verb tenses. I didn't ask her about literature, she asked me. I was delighted with her question, told her about my favorite genres and authors, and she then told me about her favorite author: Ernest Hemingway. Incidentally, she is also a fan of Remarque, as well as European art of the early twentieth century. I told her she should go see "Midnight in Paris."
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
8.11.11
It's snowing rather heavily. Snow is gathering on the earth and on top of cars. It probably won't melt soon unless the weather warms up again, which it might. The seasons' temperatures rise and fall like a pendulum oscillates. It was the coldest day of the season yesterday or the day before, it may warm up again before the snow stays for good. I don't really want that. Seasonal extremes are better than the changes. If it's going to rain, then let it be a warm summer shower, with a thunder storm if you like, otherwise for precipitation I'll take some cold winter snow that you can brush off your coat without getting the least bit wet.
Snow is beautiful too. If the wind isn't blowing too strongly, then it falls so slowly, that sometimes it even hovers outside your window, as though it's stopping to say hello. Or sometimes if a flake comes close to a large building, such as the one I live in, a draft of relatively warm air will make it float back up without destroying it, and it will apologize for initially hurrying by without wishing a pleasant evening before taking a vortex back into the colder, more inhabitable air.
I've worked too inefficiently these past two days. Yesterday was a Monday after a three day weekend - in Dolgoprudny I normally work on Fridays, but the fourth was a national holiday - and I foolishly put off grading a few exams until Monday morning. If there's one thing I've learned from previous experience, it's that I have to not think about work as long as I can, in other words, that I should enjoy my free time when I have it, which is what I did. But had I simply spent the hour or two I needed to grade those tests on Sunday instead of Monday, which would have been a mortal sin in my book, I admittedly might have been better off. I ended up committing another big sin by working around twelve hours yesterday. I guess the Book of Peter is as filled with contradictions as any other Good Book. I'll have to make some revisions. And today I spent a good four hours preparing for one measly lesson which I'll give this evening. Four hours of preparation for one lesson is too much! The problem might be that today I only have one lesson to give, and as some people say: your work will take as much time as you have.
One reason why it took so much time to prepare is because the grammar topic is rather difficult: placement of adverbs. The book always gives rules in the back section, called the grammar bank, which I usually find quite useful, but on this topic I found myself disagreeing with the book on a point or two. It's not a crime to disagree with the book, but if I claim the book is wrong, I should then explain my point of view, and most importantly, give examples. With such a difficult topic, good examples are hard to come by, examples which demonstrate when certain adverbs can go in certain parts of the sentence, and when not. I spent some time on the internet, and have found that there seems to be a lack of agreement on certain rules. For some reason this makes me happy. Call it Schadenfreude or what you will, it's good to know I'm not the only one confused. Now the trick is to get by my students without confusing them too much.
I probably won't spend too much time going into detail. There are other pertinent and more interesting things to do. Today we might talk about the best works of literature (within a certain genre), and then go into a colloquial listening section with an interview of a flight attendant and another of airline passengers. Then I might try to segue into a discussion about equality. How is that going to work? I was thinking of pointing out how flight crew are often dissatisfied with their work, sometimes they go on strike (do Russians ever go on strike? Why not?). I'll claim that their employers treat them unfairly (which Russians are treated unfairly?), and claim that everyone and everything should be made equal! I can ask them if this claim reminds them of any communist ideals, to what extent such an ideal was imposed back in the day, if it's good or bad etc. Then we can finish class by reading the beginning of a short story by Kurt Vonnegut, "Harrison Bergeron," which has everything to do about taking equality to an extreme. Hopefully my students will have a lot to say, and whatever we talk about will be thought-provoking for them. It already has been for me.
1.11.11
On the following day I walked in the same area, but mostly on the other side of the river. My route passes that of the previous day only once, and I saw a lot of things that I couldn't have seen the day before. I got off the metro at the Park of Culture station, and expected to find my whereabouts pretty quickly. I found the river without any trouble, but couldn't match my location with one I had crossed the day before. There was a large old-looking boat, that could pass as a pirate's ship, in one direction, and a glass bridge in the other. I had crossed that bridge yesterday, hadn't I? I set off for the bridge and quickly understood that it was not the same one.
The thing is, the river loops back and forth through Moscow. I think that if I had set off in the opposite direction from the metro exit, I would have come to the same river at the other side of one of its loops, and I might have seen the sights of the previous day. As it was, however, I found myself crossing an unknown glass bridge, approaching what looked the by one end of a large park. I suspected that this was the other end of the Sparrow's Hills park though I still wasn't sure, for if it was as I suspected, I couldn't understand how I had reached that point so quickly from the metro. I checked my premises, rearranged the metro line in a different orientation, and made sense of the situation. The park was indeed as I thought it was, I had only put myself on another side of the river resulting in a switch of south and north.
There had been a race in the park that morning. I saw signs directing competitors in the 5k and half-marathon. I had heard absolutely no news of any such event, otherwise I might have liked to take part. Some lagging runners were still coming in. The prizes were already being awarded. I walked on.
The road I was walking on had no automobile traffic, only pedestrians, bicyclists, and people running or skating on roller blades. I saw one athlete wearing, for lack of another name, roller-skis, which are to a skis as roller-blades are to ice skates. She had a long plank strapped to each of her feet, both ends of each plank had wheels, and she carried two polls with which she propelled herself as a cross-country skier would do. She must be dying for some snow. As it is she'll just have to wait.
I left the road and the river to climb up a small hill and get into a small yellow forest. The paths in the forest had been torn up a little. It seemed that the city was doind some renovation in the park. That didn't stop people from coming through, as the scenery was quite beautiful. The forest ended abruptly as I came through a low fence and found before me a broad highway, with a bridge over the river on my right, and the view to my left obscured by the final ascent of a shallow hill, and, across the highway in front of me, a large building which I recognized immediately. Its three or four towers are built out of about four giant blocks, one on top of the other, each the size of a small house, where the top block looks like a giant clock whose gears were constructed on the outside. One of the towers is in fact a clock tower, so maybe the architects were intending what I've described. Seeing this building before me, I knew that just over the hill on my left was Gagarin square, where I had started the previous day's journey. As I climbed a stairway which brought me to an overpass over the highway, I evetually could see the top part of the Gagarin monument, the bicentenial man.
I continued in the direction I had been walking and quickly came to the Sparrow Hills park entrance. One thing I'll not forget for a long time is a garbage can I saw right there. It had three opennings, one for paper, another for plastic, and a third for metall. There are such garbage cans in most European cities, and in many American airports, but in Russia they are very new and come across as something from another world. While in other countries people might name these containers something like 'recycle bin,' the one I saw yesterday in Moscow was titled "эксперимент" - "An Experiment."
Recycling is indeed a new idea for the Russians. I don't think people know what happens to their garbage in this country. We throw it down the garbage tube in the stairways of our flats and somehow it disappears. Maybe the tubes go to the center of the earth, or maybe there are garbage gnomes down there who process everything and make room for an unendless amount to come. To be fair, I, a haughty American who has heard and lived the word 'recycle,' don't really know what happens to my garbage, even if I do separate it into paper and plastic. Presumably it doesn't get thrown into a big hole in the desert, but I really don't know for sure. Anyway, one has to commend the Russians for taking an example from their wordly neighbors. That demonstrates a level of humility that I think America hasn't quite reached. Americans don't learn from their neighbors, beacuse America is the best and therefore has nothing to learn. Everybody knows that!
I kept walking and eventually came to the ski jump. I climbed the steep hill to the base of the column about three stories high where jumpers presumable take an elevator to the top. My path took me to a cobble-stone square where there were venders selling all sorts of street food, from popcorn to Shaurma, a greasy fast food featuring some veggies and fried recycled chicken breasts (ones which nobody bought at the stores; at least meat gets reused in this country), much like the Turkish hit 'Doener' that you can get all over Germany. I didn't get any of that trash, of course, but stopped to enjoy the view. On one side, in the direction the skiers jumped, I could see much of Moscow, with the giant olympic stadium on the opposite bank of the river, the cathedral of Christ the Savior not too far away, and Stalin's castles visible here and there. Then I turned around and gasped at the majesty of the Moscow State University of Lomonosov, which stood across a large avenue, the one I had taken from Gagarin square on the previous afternoon. I couldn't take its picture, since the sun was setting just behind it. You'll have to take my word for it, that it was quite a sight.
I set off for the Kiev train station to use a civilized bathroom, then took off in a similar direction as the day before. After buying some nuts and apples at the small market (which turned out just as filling and expensive as any fast food would have been) I crossed the glass bridge (the second of the day) and made my way towards the old Arbat street, which I hadn't walked along the previous day. There were crowds of people walking, some of the younger ones in costume to celebrate the upcoming foreign holiday. There magicians and artists, musicians, and book venders. I bought a collection of Nabokov novels, his lesser known ones, such as "The Luzhen Defense," for a little over three dollars, and went my way.
It was dark by the time I reached the Red Square. Part of me wanted to walk a little further, but I decided to enter the metro at the nearby station, and go home. Next week, I might explore the southeast portion of the metro's ring. I still have to connect Kursky train station with other portions of the city. That's the station you use to get to Vladimir. I've been there many so times before, but after arriving, I always took the metro to where I needed to go. On foot, that station has unknown fronts on all sides. The Red Square probably isn't too far away.
It's snowing rather heavily. Snow is gathering on the earth and on top of cars. It probably won't melt soon unless the weather warms up again, which it might. The seasons' temperatures rise and fall like a pendulum oscillates. It was the coldest day of the season yesterday or the day before, it may warm up again before the snow stays for good. I don't really want that. Seasonal extremes are better than the changes. If it's going to rain, then let it be a warm summer shower, with a thunder storm if you like, otherwise for precipitation I'll take some cold winter snow that you can brush off your coat without getting the least bit wet.
Snow is beautiful too. If the wind isn't blowing too strongly, then it falls so slowly, that sometimes it even hovers outside your window, as though it's stopping to say hello. Or sometimes if a flake comes close to a large building, such as the one I live in, a draft of relatively warm air will make it float back up without destroying it, and it will apologize for initially hurrying by without wishing a pleasant evening before taking a vortex back into the colder, more inhabitable air.
I've worked too inefficiently these past two days. Yesterday was a Monday after a three day weekend - in Dolgoprudny I normally work on Fridays, but the fourth was a national holiday - and I foolishly put off grading a few exams until Monday morning. If there's one thing I've learned from previous experience, it's that I have to not think about work as long as I can, in other words, that I should enjoy my free time when I have it, which is what I did. But had I simply spent the hour or two I needed to grade those tests on Sunday instead of Monday, which would have been a mortal sin in my book, I admittedly might have been better off. I ended up committing another big sin by working around twelve hours yesterday. I guess the Book of Peter is as filled with contradictions as any other Good Book. I'll have to make some revisions. And today I spent a good four hours preparing for one measly lesson which I'll give this evening. Four hours of preparation for one lesson is too much! The problem might be that today I only have one lesson to give, and as some people say: your work will take as much time as you have.
One reason why it took so much time to prepare is because the grammar topic is rather difficult: placement of adverbs. The book always gives rules in the back section, called the grammar bank, which I usually find quite useful, but on this topic I found myself disagreeing with the book on a point or two. It's not a crime to disagree with the book, but if I claim the book is wrong, I should then explain my point of view, and most importantly, give examples. With such a difficult topic, good examples are hard to come by, examples which demonstrate when certain adverbs can go in certain parts of the sentence, and when not. I spent some time on the internet, and have found that there seems to be a lack of agreement on certain rules. For some reason this makes me happy. Call it Schadenfreude or what you will, it's good to know I'm not the only one confused. Now the trick is to get by my students without confusing them too much.
I probably won't spend too much time going into detail. There are other pertinent and more interesting things to do. Today we might talk about the best works of literature (within a certain genre), and then go into a colloquial listening section with an interview of a flight attendant and another of airline passengers. Then I might try to segue into a discussion about equality. How is that going to work? I was thinking of pointing out how flight crew are often dissatisfied with their work, sometimes they go on strike (do Russians ever go on strike? Why not?). I'll claim that their employers treat them unfairly (which Russians are treated unfairly?), and claim that everyone and everything should be made equal! I can ask them if this claim reminds them of any communist ideals, to what extent such an ideal was imposed back in the day, if it's good or bad etc. Then we can finish class by reading the beginning of a short story by Kurt Vonnegut, "Harrison Bergeron," which has everything to do about taking equality to an extreme. Hopefully my students will have a lot to say, and whatever we talk about will be thought-provoking for them. It already has been for me.
1.11.11
On the following day I walked in the same area, but mostly on the other side of the river. My route passes that of the previous day only once, and I saw a lot of things that I couldn't have seen the day before. I got off the metro at the Park of Culture station, and expected to find my whereabouts pretty quickly. I found the river without any trouble, but couldn't match my location with one I had crossed the day before. There was a large old-looking boat, that could pass as a pirate's ship, in one direction, and a glass bridge in the other. I had crossed that bridge yesterday, hadn't I? I set off for the bridge and quickly understood that it was not the same one.
The thing is, the river loops back and forth through Moscow. I think that if I had set off in the opposite direction from the metro exit, I would have come to the same river at the other side of one of its loops, and I might have seen the sights of the previous day. As it was, however, I found myself crossing an unknown glass bridge, approaching what looked the by one end of a large park. I suspected that this was the other end of the Sparrow's Hills park though I still wasn't sure, for if it was as I suspected, I couldn't understand how I had reached that point so quickly from the metro. I checked my premises, rearranged the metro line in a different orientation, and made sense of the situation. The park was indeed as I thought it was, I had only put myself on another side of the river resulting in a switch of south and north.
There had been a race in the park that morning. I saw signs directing competitors in the 5k and half-marathon. I had heard absolutely no news of any such event, otherwise I might have liked to take part. Some lagging runners were still coming in. The prizes were already being awarded. I walked on.
The road I was walking on had no automobile traffic, only pedestrians, bicyclists, and people running or skating on roller blades. I saw one athlete wearing, for lack of another name, roller-skis, which are to a skis as roller-blades are to ice skates. She had a long plank strapped to each of her feet, both ends of each plank had wheels, and she carried two polls with which she propelled herself as a cross-country skier would do. She must be dying for some snow. As it is she'll just have to wait.
I left the road and the river to climb up a small hill and get into a small yellow forest. The paths in the forest had been torn up a little. It seemed that the city was doind some renovation in the park. That didn't stop people from coming through, as the scenery was quite beautiful. The forest ended abruptly as I came through a low fence and found before me a broad highway, with a bridge over the river on my right, and the view to my left obscured by the final ascent of a shallow hill, and, across the highway in front of me, a large building which I recognized immediately. Its three or four towers are built out of about four giant blocks, one on top of the other, each the size of a small house, where the top block looks like a giant clock whose gears were constructed on the outside. One of the towers is in fact a clock tower, so maybe the architects were intending what I've described. Seeing this building before me, I knew that just over the hill on my left was Gagarin square, where I had started the previous day's journey. As I climbed a stairway which brought me to an overpass over the highway, I evetually could see the top part of the Gagarin monument, the bicentenial man.
I continued in the direction I had been walking and quickly came to the Sparrow Hills park entrance. One thing I'll not forget for a long time is a garbage can I saw right there. It had three opennings, one for paper, another for plastic, and a third for metall. There are such garbage cans in most European cities, and in many American airports, but in Russia they are very new and come across as something from another world. While in other countries people might name these containers something like 'recycle bin,' the one I saw yesterday in Moscow was titled "эксперимент" - "An Experiment."
Recycling is indeed a new idea for the Russians. I don't think people know what happens to their garbage in this country. We throw it down the garbage tube in the stairways of our flats and somehow it disappears. Maybe the tubes go to the center of the earth, or maybe there are garbage gnomes down there who process everything and make room for an unendless amount to come. To be fair, I, a haughty American who has heard and lived the word 'recycle,' don't really know what happens to my garbage, even if I do separate it into paper and plastic. Presumably it doesn't get thrown into a big hole in the desert, but I really don't know for sure. Anyway, one has to commend the Russians for taking an example from their wordly neighbors. That demonstrates a level of humility that I think America hasn't quite reached. Americans don't learn from their neighbors, beacuse America is the best and therefore has nothing to learn. Everybody knows that!
I kept walking and eventually came to the ski jump. I climbed the steep hill to the base of the column about three stories high where jumpers presumable take an elevator to the top. My path took me to a cobble-stone square where there were venders selling all sorts of street food, from popcorn to Shaurma, a greasy fast food featuring some veggies and fried recycled chicken breasts (ones which nobody bought at the stores; at least meat gets reused in this country), much like the Turkish hit 'Doener' that you can get all over Germany. I didn't get any of that trash, of course, but stopped to enjoy the view. On one side, in the direction the skiers jumped, I could see much of Moscow, with the giant olympic stadium on the opposite bank of the river, the cathedral of Christ the Savior not too far away, and Stalin's castles visible here and there. Then I turned around and gasped at the majesty of the Moscow State University of Lomonosov, which stood across a large avenue, the one I had taken from Gagarin square on the previous afternoon. I couldn't take its picture, since the sun was setting just behind it. You'll have to take my word for it, that it was quite a sight.
I set off for the Kiev train station to use a civilized bathroom, then took off in a similar direction as the day before. After buying some nuts and apples at the small market (which turned out just as filling and expensive as any fast food would have been) I crossed the glass bridge (the second of the day) and made my way towards the old Arbat street, which I hadn't walked along the previous day. There were crowds of people walking, some of the younger ones in costume to celebrate the upcoming foreign holiday. There magicians and artists, musicians, and book venders. I bought a collection of Nabokov novels, his lesser known ones, such as "The Luzhen Defense," for a little over three dollars, and went my way.
It was dark by the time I reached the Red Square. Part of me wanted to walk a little further, but I decided to enter the metro at the nearby station, and go home. Next week, I might explore the southeast portion of the metro's ring. I still have to connect Kursky train station with other portions of the city. That's the station you use to get to Vladimir. I've been there many so times before, but after arriving, I always took the metro to where I needed to go. On foot, that station has unknown fronts on all sides. The Red Square probably isn't too far away.
Monday, October 31, 2011
30.10.11
I've got it figured out. The 'occupy wall street' movement will form a political party. They'll call themselves 'occupy the white house,' and will start receiving campaign donations for the two thousand and twelve elections. Having established themselves as a bonafied party, in particular a for-profit business, they'll receive a grade from all the rating agencies. The S&P and Bank of America rating agencies will start the company at the lowest grade ever seen: 'for the love of God, don't give these people your money,' which is just a step below 'you'd do better burning your cash in a barrel for heating this winter.' But then Warren Buffet will suggest that these people are on to something in regards to the banks having too much power, and throw their campaign a few hundred million dollars. That will raise a few eyebrows, and people will start donating their money to the young party (after all, when politics is concerned, donating and investing are the same thing), and the rating agencies will rethink their initial assessment. Finally, the Goldman and Sachs rating agency will give them a grade of mega quadrupal super A+, more people will invest, the party will turn into an investment bank, and the bank's political problems that the party might have caused will be solved. The founders of the 'occupy wall street' movement, having become multibillionaires, will suddenly understand that there are no two ways about it: money makes the world go round. And Ayn Rand will be able to rest in peace.
As it is, she's rolling in her grave. I've only read one of her novels, "Atlas Shrugged," but it has proved to be very thought provoking. I also found it rather well-written, though I wouldn't recommend reading the unabridged edition unless you're rich in free time, as I was last summer. Some of the demonstrators in Germany have recently hit the streets with the message that 'the only crisis is capitalism,' and others have called for something like a 'Robin Hood' tax on the richest banks. I couldn't help but laugh at reading the latter, since Rand took a few pages to explain how Robin Hood was really an evil socialist, which itself was kind of entertaining.
The heroes in her book are very hard-working people, genius inventors, and would be successful businessmen in a capitalist environment. But the socialists gain too much power, let modern society crumble with their demonic policy, and force the heroes to start anew in their own capitalistic haven that they founded just for themselves.
I think Ayn Rand would be mistaken to say that a person's value to a capitalistic society is measured by the amount of money the person has. I hardly believe that all rich people are valuable, and, conversely, I'm inclinced to believe that there are some valuable people who are not rich. The difficulty is, who decides what's valuable? In Peterland, teachers would be richer, but in the real world, many of them get by with next to nothing.
Getting back to the 'occupy wall street' movement, the question arises, are bankers valuable to society? If not, then why do some of them have so much money? I was thinking about how banks make money the other day. It's actually really easy. People give them their money to keep safe, and with all that capital, banks give out loans and collect interest. There's nothing to it! There's no work involved! Does one even have to graduate from high-school to become a wall street banker? I mean, if you give out the wrong loan, and you're about to crash, the government will help you out, as long as you're among those that are too big to fail.
Anyway, it's this type of rich people that Ayn Rand doesn't address. They're not geniuses, and they seemingly don't have to work very hard. They don't invent new materials, they don't make sure that trains get to where they need to be on time, they don't manage anything, except other people's money. So what is a banker's value to society?
A banker, or a rich investor, might say that they are the people who put money where it needs to be in order to keep the economy strong and help society progress. Unfortunately, a strong economy and societal progress might be at odds with one another, depending on what progress entails. Again, that depends on who you ask. In any case, it shouldn't be up to the bankers, or anyone who stands to gain from making that decision. For the bankers, progress is when their bank account grows larger.
This weekend I went walking along the banks of the Moscow River, a rather unfortunate name for a river through a capital city. You'd expect something a little more Russian sounding, like Kl'yazma, or even Volga, but as far as I know this river has no other title. I started my walk at the metro station 'Leningrad Avenue,' where I quickly went shopping at a huge mall. Upon leaving the complex, I had little idea of where to turn, so set off in a random direction to see if I could find a map of the district, which they often post at busstops, among other places. I quickly found the Avenue. You don't exit onto it directly from the metro. Rather, you go straight onto Gagarin square from which very little is visible. At one corner there are giant smokestacks spewing clouds of carbon biproducts into the sky. At another corner is the mall where I can get roasted almonds at a good price. Another corner is dominated by a building with a huge sign across its top, I forget which one, since there are lots of such gigantic signs thoughout the city; this one might be Росгосстрах, an insurance company, I think. Another corner has a monument to what could be the bicentenial man, but more likely is of Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space. The monument is really tall. It has a large silver-colored statue of a man, itself maybe two stories high, on top of a column which is many times larger than the statue. In effect, it looks like the man is taking off into space, as though he has jet-packs in his feet.
The statue doesn't face the square named after him, however, and I figured, after having completed my shopping, that maybe he was looking towards downtown Moscow. I was one the right track with the thought that he was looking at something important, though it wasn't the center of town. I crossed the avenue through an underground tunnel, embarked down another street along which Yuri was looking, and immediately noticed in the distance, about two kilometers away, a building I had seen about a year before, Moscow State Univeristy of Lomonosov. It wasn't downtown Moscow; if anything it was a little further away from downtown, but it was a landmark I had seen before, so I set off for it for the sake of making the connection between two known points. Along the way, I crossed not a place I knew, but the name of a familiar place, called 'Sparrow Hills.' I knew there was a metro stop with that name, and that that stop was one closer to central Moscow than the University, so I left the avanue and entered the park 'Sparrow Hills' to see what else I would find.
The metro stop is located on a bridge across the Moscow River, and exits right into the park itself. But you don't have to enter the metro to cross the bridge, there are crossings on either side outside of the metro station, and that's what I used to get to the other side of the river. I kicked myself for not bringing my camera, for even though the sky was overcast, the trees in the park made for a nice Autumn photograph, with the top of the university in the background. As I came to the end of the bridge, I noticed another thing which I love to see in any city, big or small. Along the bank of the river there was a wide sidewalk with a green and yellow painted bike-lane. That's the only one I've ever seen in Russia, let alone Moscow. The bike lane ended not far from one side of the bridge, so I took off in the other direction, although part of me wanted to make another connection with a huge cathedral, that of Jesus the Savior, that I had walked past the week before. In the opposite direction I walked along the river, which winds around an olympic sports complex where I suppose atheletes competed in the 1950's or 60's (a sign said the complex was fifty five years old; who knows how old the sign is?). The park extends on the other side of the river. In its middle there is a tall structure, which I soon realized was a ski jump, like the one they use in the olympic games. The park isn't so broad as it is long, and I thought some strong jumpers might fly right into the river if they don't restrain themselves. But in the winter maybe this isn't a problem, since the river probably freezes. The bike lane came to an end with the park on the other bank as I exited the olympic sports complex, and came back into civilization with broad avenues, too many cars and not enough trains. I walked a few more kilometers, not knowing where I was going, but expecting to come across a metro station soon enough, expecially since I could see a castle in front of me, which meant I wasn't far from downtown.
Eventually I approached a glass pedestrian bridge across the river, took the deserted stairway to its top, and crossed. I could see I was approaching a train station, but which one exactly I couldn't tell until I had crossed completely. It was the Kiev station. There were hoards of people, people travelling somewhere, others shopping at the giant mall next to the station. There were venders on the square in between the station and the river. I used the bathroom at the mall, one of 'european' standards, as I heard another man comment, and I can only agree. I've had to pay for a urine-soaked hole in the ground at one of Moscow's train stations. The bathroom at the mall was free and civilized.
Having an idea of where I was in the city, I set off to make a new connection, crossed the bridge again, and went down some quieter streets before approaching what looked like another large avenue. I came out from the side street, noticed a huge castle to my left, and guessed, correctly, that the old Arbat street was not far away. I didn't check my guess, but took another street in the direction I wanted to go, reached, as I had expected to, the station Kropotinskaya, which is located right across from the cathedral of Jesus the Savior, continued on in a new direction from that station, and after passing a few museums with lines of people waiting for the evening exhibition, found myself approaching the Kremlin. I didn't go through Alexander garden, or cross the Red Square, but turned a corner and entered the Metro at Borrovitski station, rode back to Timir'azovskaya, and caught the train back to Dolgoprudny just as it was stopping on the platform.
I've got it figured out. The 'occupy wall street' movement will form a political party. They'll call themselves 'occupy the white house,' and will start receiving campaign donations for the two thousand and twelve elections. Having established themselves as a bonafied party, in particular a for-profit business, they'll receive a grade from all the rating agencies. The S&P and Bank of America rating agencies will start the company at the lowest grade ever seen: 'for the love of God, don't give these people your money,' which is just a step below 'you'd do better burning your cash in a barrel for heating this winter.' But then Warren Buffet will suggest that these people are on to something in regards to the banks having too much power, and throw their campaign a few hundred million dollars. That will raise a few eyebrows, and people will start donating their money to the young party (after all, when politics is concerned, donating and investing are the same thing), and the rating agencies will rethink their initial assessment. Finally, the Goldman and Sachs rating agency will give them a grade of mega quadrupal super A+, more people will invest, the party will turn into an investment bank, and the bank's political problems that the party might have caused will be solved. The founders of the 'occupy wall street' movement, having become multibillionaires, will suddenly understand that there are no two ways about it: money makes the world go round. And Ayn Rand will be able to rest in peace.
As it is, she's rolling in her grave. I've only read one of her novels, "Atlas Shrugged," but it has proved to be very thought provoking. I also found it rather well-written, though I wouldn't recommend reading the unabridged edition unless you're rich in free time, as I was last summer. Some of the demonstrators in Germany have recently hit the streets with the message that 'the only crisis is capitalism,' and others have called for something like a 'Robin Hood' tax on the richest banks. I couldn't help but laugh at reading the latter, since Rand took a few pages to explain how Robin Hood was really an evil socialist, which itself was kind of entertaining.
The heroes in her book are very hard-working people, genius inventors, and would be successful businessmen in a capitalist environment. But the socialists gain too much power, let modern society crumble with their demonic policy, and force the heroes to start anew in their own capitalistic haven that they founded just for themselves.
I think Ayn Rand would be mistaken to say that a person's value to a capitalistic society is measured by the amount of money the person has. I hardly believe that all rich people are valuable, and, conversely, I'm inclinced to believe that there are some valuable people who are not rich. The difficulty is, who decides what's valuable? In Peterland, teachers would be richer, but in the real world, many of them get by with next to nothing.
Getting back to the 'occupy wall street' movement, the question arises, are bankers valuable to society? If not, then why do some of them have so much money? I was thinking about how banks make money the other day. It's actually really easy. People give them their money to keep safe, and with all that capital, banks give out loans and collect interest. There's nothing to it! There's no work involved! Does one even have to graduate from high-school to become a wall street banker? I mean, if you give out the wrong loan, and you're about to crash, the government will help you out, as long as you're among those that are too big to fail.
Anyway, it's this type of rich people that Ayn Rand doesn't address. They're not geniuses, and they seemingly don't have to work very hard. They don't invent new materials, they don't make sure that trains get to where they need to be on time, they don't manage anything, except other people's money. So what is a banker's value to society?
A banker, or a rich investor, might say that they are the people who put money where it needs to be in order to keep the economy strong and help society progress. Unfortunately, a strong economy and societal progress might be at odds with one another, depending on what progress entails. Again, that depends on who you ask. In any case, it shouldn't be up to the bankers, or anyone who stands to gain from making that decision. For the bankers, progress is when their bank account grows larger.
This weekend I went walking along the banks of the Moscow River, a rather unfortunate name for a river through a capital city. You'd expect something a little more Russian sounding, like Kl'yazma, or even Volga, but as far as I know this river has no other title. I started my walk at the metro station 'Leningrad Avenue,' where I quickly went shopping at a huge mall. Upon leaving the complex, I had little idea of where to turn, so set off in a random direction to see if I could find a map of the district, which they often post at busstops, among other places. I quickly found the Avenue. You don't exit onto it directly from the metro. Rather, you go straight onto Gagarin square from which very little is visible. At one corner there are giant smokestacks spewing clouds of carbon biproducts into the sky. At another corner is the mall where I can get roasted almonds at a good price. Another corner is dominated by a building with a huge sign across its top, I forget which one, since there are lots of such gigantic signs thoughout the city; this one might be Росгосстрах, an insurance company, I think. Another corner has a monument to what could be the bicentenial man, but more likely is of Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space. The monument is really tall. It has a large silver-colored statue of a man, itself maybe two stories high, on top of a column which is many times larger than the statue. In effect, it looks like the man is taking off into space, as though he has jet-packs in his feet.
The statue doesn't face the square named after him, however, and I figured, after having completed my shopping, that maybe he was looking towards downtown Moscow. I was one the right track with the thought that he was looking at something important, though it wasn't the center of town. I crossed the avenue through an underground tunnel, embarked down another street along which Yuri was looking, and immediately noticed in the distance, about two kilometers away, a building I had seen about a year before, Moscow State Univeristy of Lomonosov. It wasn't downtown Moscow; if anything it was a little further away from downtown, but it was a landmark I had seen before, so I set off for it for the sake of making the connection between two known points. Along the way, I crossed not a place I knew, but the name of a familiar place, called 'Sparrow Hills.' I knew there was a metro stop with that name, and that that stop was one closer to central Moscow than the University, so I left the avanue and entered the park 'Sparrow Hills' to see what else I would find.
The metro stop is located on a bridge across the Moscow River, and exits right into the park itself. But you don't have to enter the metro to cross the bridge, there are crossings on either side outside of the metro station, and that's what I used to get to the other side of the river. I kicked myself for not bringing my camera, for even though the sky was overcast, the trees in the park made for a nice Autumn photograph, with the top of the university in the background. As I came to the end of the bridge, I noticed another thing which I love to see in any city, big or small. Along the bank of the river there was a wide sidewalk with a green and yellow painted bike-lane. That's the only one I've ever seen in Russia, let alone Moscow. The bike lane ended not far from one side of the bridge, so I took off in the other direction, although part of me wanted to make another connection with a huge cathedral, that of Jesus the Savior, that I had walked past the week before. In the opposite direction I walked along the river, which winds around an olympic sports complex where I suppose atheletes competed in the 1950's or 60's (a sign said the complex was fifty five years old; who knows how old the sign is?). The park extends on the other side of the river. In its middle there is a tall structure, which I soon realized was a ski jump, like the one they use in the olympic games. The park isn't so broad as it is long, and I thought some strong jumpers might fly right into the river if they don't restrain themselves. But in the winter maybe this isn't a problem, since the river probably freezes. The bike lane came to an end with the park on the other bank as I exited the olympic sports complex, and came back into civilization with broad avenues, too many cars and not enough trains. I walked a few more kilometers, not knowing where I was going, but expecting to come across a metro station soon enough, expecially since I could see a castle in front of me, which meant I wasn't far from downtown.
Eventually I approached a glass pedestrian bridge across the river, took the deserted stairway to its top, and crossed. I could see I was approaching a train station, but which one exactly I couldn't tell until I had crossed completely. It was the Kiev station. There were hoards of people, people travelling somewhere, others shopping at the giant mall next to the station. There were venders on the square in between the station and the river. I used the bathroom at the mall, one of 'european' standards, as I heard another man comment, and I can only agree. I've had to pay for a urine-soaked hole in the ground at one of Moscow's train stations. The bathroom at the mall was free and civilized.
Having an idea of where I was in the city, I set off to make a new connection, crossed the bridge again, and went down some quieter streets before approaching what looked like another large avenue. I came out from the side street, noticed a huge castle to my left, and guessed, correctly, that the old Arbat street was not far away. I didn't check my guess, but took another street in the direction I wanted to go, reached, as I had expected to, the station Kropotinskaya, which is located right across from the cathedral of Jesus the Savior, continued on in a new direction from that station, and after passing a few museums with lines of people waiting for the evening exhibition, found myself approaching the Kremlin. I didn't go through Alexander garden, or cross the Red Square, but turned a corner and entered the Metro at Borrovitski station, rode back to Timir'azovskaya, and caught the train back to Dolgoprudny just as it was stopping on the platform.
Monday, October 24, 2011
23.10.11
I'm reading a good book called "One-storied America" by a pair of soviet journalists Ilf and Petrov. Those two might be better known for a novel called "The 12 chairs," after which a number of movies were made, among others one in Hollywood, I think directed by Mel Brooks. The latter is a comedy about the search for a certain chair that's supposed to have a fortune's worth of diamonds hidden inside the cushions. The book I'm reading now isn't so much a comedy as a sort of historical novel. I never have been too interested in history. I've joked with my students, whenever the topic of discussion allows for a digression into education, that history is completely worthless, we'd do well to spend the time studying math instead.
Nevertheless I find this book very interesting. It's about the authors' excursion in America around the year 1936, during the great depression and before the start of the second world war. It's very interesting to see America at a different time and from a foreigner's point of view. A foreign eye sees things that a native doesn't ever notice. It's also interesting to get to know the people they met on their journey. They wrote about a lot of communist sympathizers, including Henry Ford, who they met on their way through Detroit. They mentioned a baptist who hitched a ride with them from Utah further west, who preached the same cheerful song I've heard many a time in my own life, and not just from baptists, that all of us who don't convert are going to burn for eternity. This was ammusing for the communist authors, whose country had officially prohibited collective practice of any religion - perhaps to no avail, for though they had no God, they had Lenin and Stalin. They also spent some time on a Navajo Indian reservation in New Mexico. They said the Navajo despised anything associated with the white man, but that there was one white man who had gone to live on the reservation to convert the savages to christianity, and ended up becoming an Indian himself. This was a very interesting character: respectful of the earth, satisfied with the life of a livestock farmer; not surprisingly also a communist.
A few times while reading I've wanted to look up a few things in a Russian history textbook that I left behind in Vladimir. The 'five year plan' which had just come to an end in Russia was described by a layman in the book as a plan by which everyone in Russia worked, and in return received food and shelter from the government. I understand that the Russians were then working out a new five year plan that would be much like the first, which allegedly worked out rather well. But where does all the terror that people in the west heard about fit into play? Were things really going well at that time, or were millions of Russians starving and being thrown into the gulags? What would Ilf and Petrov have to say about this?
There was another hitchhiker, incidentally unemployed, who said that the richest Americans should be allowed to have no more than five million dollars. That's an interesting idea, one you don't hear much today. Today raising taxes the slightest amount on the richest two percent of Americans is as antipatriotic as some of the more radical ideas back then. But opposing either idea, raising taxes, or capping the wealth at so many millions of dollars begs the question: how many yachts do you need? I can't get past this question. Ayn Rand, though she helped me sympathize with some insanely rich people, couldn't convert me completely. Actually, I might have made a good communist.
I'm reading a good book called "One-storied America" by a pair of soviet journalists Ilf and Petrov. Those two might be better known for a novel called "The 12 chairs," after which a number of movies were made, among others one in Hollywood, I think directed by Mel Brooks. The latter is a comedy about the search for a certain chair that's supposed to have a fortune's worth of diamonds hidden inside the cushions. The book I'm reading now isn't so much a comedy as a sort of historical novel. I never have been too interested in history. I've joked with my students, whenever the topic of discussion allows for a digression into education, that history is completely worthless, we'd do well to spend the time studying math instead.
Nevertheless I find this book very interesting. It's about the authors' excursion in America around the year 1936, during the great depression and before the start of the second world war. It's very interesting to see America at a different time and from a foreigner's point of view. A foreign eye sees things that a native doesn't ever notice. It's also interesting to get to know the people they met on their journey. They wrote about a lot of communist sympathizers, including Henry Ford, who they met on their way through Detroit. They mentioned a baptist who hitched a ride with them from Utah further west, who preached the same cheerful song I've heard many a time in my own life, and not just from baptists, that all of us who don't convert are going to burn for eternity. This was ammusing for the communist authors, whose country had officially prohibited collective practice of any religion - perhaps to no avail, for though they had no God, they had Lenin and Stalin. They also spent some time on a Navajo Indian reservation in New Mexico. They said the Navajo despised anything associated with the white man, but that there was one white man who had gone to live on the reservation to convert the savages to christianity, and ended up becoming an Indian himself. This was a very interesting character: respectful of the earth, satisfied with the life of a livestock farmer; not surprisingly also a communist.
A few times while reading I've wanted to look up a few things in a Russian history textbook that I left behind in Vladimir. The 'five year plan' which had just come to an end in Russia was described by a layman in the book as a plan by which everyone in Russia worked, and in return received food and shelter from the government. I understand that the Russians were then working out a new five year plan that would be much like the first, which allegedly worked out rather well. But where does all the terror that people in the west heard about fit into play? Were things really going well at that time, or were millions of Russians starving and being thrown into the gulags? What would Ilf and Petrov have to say about this?
There was another hitchhiker, incidentally unemployed, who said that the richest Americans should be allowed to have no more than five million dollars. That's an interesting idea, one you don't hear much today. Today raising taxes the slightest amount on the richest two percent of Americans is as antipatriotic as some of the more radical ideas back then. But opposing either idea, raising taxes, or capping the wealth at so many millions of dollars begs the question: how many yachts do you need? I can't get past this question. Ayn Rand, though she helped me sympathize with some insanely rich people, couldn't convert me completely. Actually, I might have made a good communist.
Monday, October 17, 2011
16.10.11
I saw a movie today, called "Contagion." Here they called it "Zarajzenie," which has the same root as "Zaraza," which fans at football mathces sometimes yell whenever their team screws up. I enjoyed the movie. I hadn't seen anything from Hollywood since my arrival, so, as strange as it might sound coming from a guy who's not too enthusiastic about main-stream western culture, it was a bit refreshing. Watching an epidemic spread reminds me of degrees of acquaintance. I don't think that's what they're really called; I mean that person A is acquainted to person B to the Nth degree when person A knows someone who knows someone who knows someone ... (N-3 more times) who knows person B. With a viral epidemic, these degrees might have practical significance, whereby acquaintance isn't made by so much as a handshake, but merely through proximity to a person, or by touching common objects, such as a martini glass, within a short timeframe.
I watched the movie in Moscow, since I understand that Dolgoprudny doesn't have a movie theater. I think that's because the internet is fairly well established here, and my impression is that people can download whatever movie they want from file-sharing websites without any repercussions from the law. I don't think Russian law has reached copyright issues yet. I've gone so far as to buy allegedly pirated copies of movies on the street, but I haven't gotten to downloading the latest blockbuster yet. I say that the internet is strong here, but I still haven't hooked my laptop up. I'm waiting to meet my landlord. He or she should be by before the end of the month. In the meantime, I'll make do with whatever I can find. There's a computer at work that I've been able to use. If I get internet at home though, maybe I'll see what downloads are available.
I was in Moscow yesterday too. I enjoy walking there. I like connecting unknown regions to ones I know already. I've taken unexplored routes from metro stations, trying to find my way to the next station on foot. Last weekend the weather was wonderful. I found my way from the station where the central school is located, Mendeleevskaya, to Trubnaya, which looked oddly familiar as I walked up. If I'm not mistaken, I had been at that square a year or two prior, when I was walking around looking for the Dostoevski museum. I went into a mall I had visited once in a previous life, suspecting that there was an M-video store there, which there was and which I entered in order to see if they had any interesting audiobooks. Their selection was horrible, as it often is, but they did have one disk with poems by Nekrasov for a little over two dollars. I'm not much for Russian poetry on audio - the readers tend to get very emotional - but the price was right, and my tastes may change.
On the same day last weekend, after taking the metro from Trubnaya to somewhere else, I remember walking by a big government building in the center of Moscow. I had walked past what I think is the former KGB headquarters, further down the street towards one of Stalin's castles that I'd spotted in the distance, past a big museum that I'd like to visit someday, and suddenly there wasn't anyone else walking around, which made me think that I wasn't supposed to be where I was. I forget which building I was walking by, but I think a sign might have said it was an office building for the administration of the President. There were police cars parked in a small lot across from the broad sidewalk I was walking along. Nevertheless, I walked by unhindered and quickly came back to civilization, to a place I'd frequented many times before. I had reached the China Town metro station. One of the streets in a triangular intersection I recognized as Solyanka, which leads to the hostel I chose whenever I needed to stay the night in Moscow. I crossed the intersection and turned down the street opposite Solyanka to see where it lead. Not five minutes later I found myself approaching Vasilivski Cathedral on the Red Square. To my left, on the other side of a lone restaurant, a whole block had been cleared. They must be planning some construction there. Ahead of me on my right, I could see the clock tower of the Kremlin, and the huge golden domes of the cathedral - the mark of any Russian orthodox church. I've never been on the inside of the cathedral. Judging from the look on the outside, one might expect to find upon entering a wonderland filled with candy and deserts. One of my former colleagues from the American Home joked that Vasilivski Cathedral was the Russian headquarters of Willy Wonka. I'm so stupid I actually believed Willy Wonka could in some way be affiliated with this cathedral on the Red Square. It's colored just that way. I took another unknown street and found my way back to the former KGB headquarters, and took the metro back ot the train station from where I headed back to Dolgoprudny.
Yesterday the weather was horrible, but not bad enough that I'd cancel my weekend walk. Had it been raining, I might have stayed inside. Fortunately, the rain was minimal, and whatever fell was frozen anyway, so I didn't get really wet. What had been the warmest weather the weekend before had become the coldest since my arrival. Over the week the temperature had fallen twenty degrees celcius, or thirty six degrees fahrenheit. It had been over seventy degrees on the Saturday before. Yesterday temperatures were in the upper thirties. My lungs could feel the cold. For a moment I was concerned that I would catch a fierce cold, but then I figured I would have to expose myself to the cold at some point, there's no point in delaying the inevitable. I found it strange that temperatures in the thirties felt so cold in the Autumn and yet rather warm in the Spring. It must be acclimation: in the Fall everyone is used to warmer temperatures than in the Spring. So I rationalized my concern away. If you feel your lungs burning from colder and colder temperatures, don't fret. If you survive the viral onslaught, you'll be all the stronger for the rest of the cold season.
I didn't time the cinema right yesterday, so I walked for a hour before returning home to cook some Turkish chickpeas. I went by the American Embassy on Novinski prospect, turned towards another one of Stalin's castles to confirm the location of a metro stop, walked back to Novinski prospect and turned in a new direction. I passed the Moscow zoo and planetarium, and shortly thereafter come up to a concert hall. There are probably very many concert halls in Moscow, this one was in the name of Tschaikovski. The statue on the sqaure adjacent was probably of the great composer; I didn't check, but turned another unknown corner. It wasn't long before I noticed a cinema across the street, and after studying the approaching intersection, I realized that I was coming back to a place I'd been to many times before. I was approaching Tverskoi Boulevard, a street which I've walked along rather frequently since my arrival last month. I crossed the street (using the very convenient underground tunnel), went into the theater to see what was playing, observed that this one was also showing Zarazjenie, which I'd noticed first at another theater on Novy Arbat, and made plans to come back the following day, which was today. I wasn't too impressed with the auditorium. The view is at least as good at another theater where the movies are less mainstream and consequently much less expensive. The chairs are more comfortable though.
17.10.11
It's quarter to two on Monday. I'm going to have lunch and go to work soon. I'll give lessons from three thirty until ten, come home, whip up a dinner, and go to sleep around twelve thirty. This week should be much easier than the previous ones. Another teacher has returned from vacation, and he gets many of the classes that I was covering for him. I don't envy his schedule. I hope he doesn't get sick immediately and stay home for a few days, but some of those kids are enough to drive anyone insane. I had some fun with some of them last Friday. What a way to end the week, with a group of nine-year olds some of whom haven't mastered the alphabet yet, let alone seen the verb 'to be.' I tried teaching them words for family members, brother, father, mother, things like that. Then they should have been able to say what their names were, and how old they were, but we didn't get that far. Words like 'his' and 'her' were also new, and all that makes for a lot of material for one lesson. About three of the nine students figured things out, another three couldn't care less about whatever wisdom I had to share with them, and the rest maybe tried a bit, but didn't quite get what I was demonstrating.
Young students get more disruptive, the less they care about the material. If you can make the material interesting, then you might manage to teach them something. If they're not interested, then you're sunk. How do you make students interested when they know absolutely nothing? Hell if I know. Before this gig, I'd never taught students with so little knowledge. This principle of interest isn't as true for adults. I think it's mainly because they pay for their own classes. They know that they're paying a lot of money, and this investment translates into more motivation. Even if they're just beginning, they are more focused and work harder. That being said, interesting lessons are still very helpful. In general, I find it's easier to learn something if it's interesting.
I saw a movie today, called "Contagion." Here they called it "Zarajzenie," which has the same root as "Zaraza," which fans at football mathces sometimes yell whenever their team screws up. I enjoyed the movie. I hadn't seen anything from Hollywood since my arrival, so, as strange as it might sound coming from a guy who's not too enthusiastic about main-stream western culture, it was a bit refreshing. Watching an epidemic spread reminds me of degrees of acquaintance. I don't think that's what they're really called; I mean that person A is acquainted to person B to the Nth degree when person A knows someone who knows someone who knows someone ... (N-3 more times) who knows person B. With a viral epidemic, these degrees might have practical significance, whereby acquaintance isn't made by so much as a handshake, but merely through proximity to a person, or by touching common objects, such as a martini glass, within a short timeframe.
I watched the movie in Moscow, since I understand that Dolgoprudny doesn't have a movie theater. I think that's because the internet is fairly well established here, and my impression is that people can download whatever movie they want from file-sharing websites without any repercussions from the law. I don't think Russian law has reached copyright issues yet. I've gone so far as to buy allegedly pirated copies of movies on the street, but I haven't gotten to downloading the latest blockbuster yet. I say that the internet is strong here, but I still haven't hooked my laptop up. I'm waiting to meet my landlord. He or she should be by before the end of the month. In the meantime, I'll make do with whatever I can find. There's a computer at work that I've been able to use. If I get internet at home though, maybe I'll see what downloads are available.
I was in Moscow yesterday too. I enjoy walking there. I like connecting unknown regions to ones I know already. I've taken unexplored routes from metro stations, trying to find my way to the next station on foot. Last weekend the weather was wonderful. I found my way from the station where the central school is located, Mendeleevskaya, to Trubnaya, which looked oddly familiar as I walked up. If I'm not mistaken, I had been at that square a year or two prior, when I was walking around looking for the Dostoevski museum. I went into a mall I had visited once in a previous life, suspecting that there was an M-video store there, which there was and which I entered in order to see if they had any interesting audiobooks. Their selection was horrible, as it often is, but they did have one disk with poems by Nekrasov for a little over two dollars. I'm not much for Russian poetry on audio - the readers tend to get very emotional - but the price was right, and my tastes may change.
On the same day last weekend, after taking the metro from Trubnaya to somewhere else, I remember walking by a big government building in the center of Moscow. I had walked past what I think is the former KGB headquarters, further down the street towards one of Stalin's castles that I'd spotted in the distance, past a big museum that I'd like to visit someday, and suddenly there wasn't anyone else walking around, which made me think that I wasn't supposed to be where I was. I forget which building I was walking by, but I think a sign might have said it was an office building for the administration of the President. There were police cars parked in a small lot across from the broad sidewalk I was walking along. Nevertheless, I walked by unhindered and quickly came back to civilization, to a place I'd frequented many times before. I had reached the China Town metro station. One of the streets in a triangular intersection I recognized as Solyanka, which leads to the hostel I chose whenever I needed to stay the night in Moscow. I crossed the intersection and turned down the street opposite Solyanka to see where it lead. Not five minutes later I found myself approaching Vasilivski Cathedral on the Red Square. To my left, on the other side of a lone restaurant, a whole block had been cleared. They must be planning some construction there. Ahead of me on my right, I could see the clock tower of the Kremlin, and the huge golden domes of the cathedral - the mark of any Russian orthodox church. I've never been on the inside of the cathedral. Judging from the look on the outside, one might expect to find upon entering a wonderland filled with candy and deserts. One of my former colleagues from the American Home joked that Vasilivski Cathedral was the Russian headquarters of Willy Wonka. I'm so stupid I actually believed Willy Wonka could in some way be affiliated with this cathedral on the Red Square. It's colored just that way. I took another unknown street and found my way back to the former KGB headquarters, and took the metro back ot the train station from where I headed back to Dolgoprudny.
Yesterday the weather was horrible, but not bad enough that I'd cancel my weekend walk. Had it been raining, I might have stayed inside. Fortunately, the rain was minimal, and whatever fell was frozen anyway, so I didn't get really wet. What had been the warmest weather the weekend before had become the coldest since my arrival. Over the week the temperature had fallen twenty degrees celcius, or thirty six degrees fahrenheit. It had been over seventy degrees on the Saturday before. Yesterday temperatures were in the upper thirties. My lungs could feel the cold. For a moment I was concerned that I would catch a fierce cold, but then I figured I would have to expose myself to the cold at some point, there's no point in delaying the inevitable. I found it strange that temperatures in the thirties felt so cold in the Autumn and yet rather warm in the Spring. It must be acclimation: in the Fall everyone is used to warmer temperatures than in the Spring. So I rationalized my concern away. If you feel your lungs burning from colder and colder temperatures, don't fret. If you survive the viral onslaught, you'll be all the stronger for the rest of the cold season.
I didn't time the cinema right yesterday, so I walked for a hour before returning home to cook some Turkish chickpeas. I went by the American Embassy on Novinski prospect, turned towards another one of Stalin's castles to confirm the location of a metro stop, walked back to Novinski prospect and turned in a new direction. I passed the Moscow zoo and planetarium, and shortly thereafter come up to a concert hall. There are probably very many concert halls in Moscow, this one was in the name of Tschaikovski. The statue on the sqaure adjacent was probably of the great composer; I didn't check, but turned another unknown corner. It wasn't long before I noticed a cinema across the street, and after studying the approaching intersection, I realized that I was coming back to a place I'd been to many times before. I was approaching Tverskoi Boulevard, a street which I've walked along rather frequently since my arrival last month. I crossed the street (using the very convenient underground tunnel), went into the theater to see what was playing, observed that this one was also showing Zarazjenie, which I'd noticed first at another theater on Novy Arbat, and made plans to come back the following day, which was today. I wasn't too impressed with the auditorium. The view is at least as good at another theater where the movies are less mainstream and consequently much less expensive. The chairs are more comfortable though.
17.10.11
It's quarter to two on Monday. I'm going to have lunch and go to work soon. I'll give lessons from three thirty until ten, come home, whip up a dinner, and go to sleep around twelve thirty. This week should be much easier than the previous ones. Another teacher has returned from vacation, and he gets many of the classes that I was covering for him. I don't envy his schedule. I hope he doesn't get sick immediately and stay home for a few days, but some of those kids are enough to drive anyone insane. I had some fun with some of them last Friday. What a way to end the week, with a group of nine-year olds some of whom haven't mastered the alphabet yet, let alone seen the verb 'to be.' I tried teaching them words for family members, brother, father, mother, things like that. Then they should have been able to say what their names were, and how old they were, but we didn't get that far. Words like 'his' and 'her' were also new, and all that makes for a lot of material for one lesson. About three of the nine students figured things out, another three couldn't care less about whatever wisdom I had to share with them, and the rest maybe tried a bit, but didn't quite get what I was demonstrating.
Young students get more disruptive, the less they care about the material. If you can make the material interesting, then you might manage to teach them something. If they're not interested, then you're sunk. How do you make students interested when they know absolutely nothing? Hell if I know. Before this gig, I'd never taught students with so little knowledge. This principle of interest isn't as true for adults. I think it's mainly because they pay for their own classes. They know that they're paying a lot of money, and this investment translates into more motivation. Even if they're just beginning, they are more focused and work harder. That being said, interesting lessons are still very helpful. In general, I find it's easier to learn something if it's interesting.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
8.10.11
I think science is the best religion not only because it grows and corrects itself, but because it doesn't require much blind faith in the first place. In mathematics for example, you only have to acccept a few ideas such as the existence of the number one, the existence of addition which you can iteratively apply to pairs of one to get two, then three, and the rest; you accept that two points determine a line, and that a collection of positive integers has a smallest integer among them. I would like to say that these assumptions make sense, that I can conceive the idea of number and addition by holdind out first my pointer finger, then my middle finger, and behold, one and one make two, but I think that would be the analogue of observing the trees and the birds and concluding that god exists. So I'll be honest and say that I merely believe in the idea of one and its consequences. I can't justify my belief by saying I want to believe, my faith is as blind as any other.
But like I said, a scientist doesn't need to have much faith. There are relatively few things that need to be accepted outright before the ideas grow on their; own.idea begets the other, like generations of a living being. With christianity, where contradictions abound in the absence of logic, faith is an absolute necessity, and the less founded the faith, the better. A christian is often brought to the conclusion that their god works in mysterious ways, and that's the end of the discussion. For a scientist, the mystery is the beginning.
Is economics a science? There's something scientific about the principle of supply and demand, presumably you can observe it working again and again every day, yet economics seems to function with a greater factor of faith than one might expect in a science. Nobody calls it faith though, it's called consumer confidence. I'd like to believe that low confidence is a consequence of a bad economy, but isn't it also a little bit the other way around? If consumers are confident, then they invest money, and the economy grows and becomes stronger. So why don't consumers just decide to be confident, then the economy would be in good shape! I haven't had the pleasure of being enlightened in the mysteries of the economy, but maybe economics is enough of a science that it's susceptible to a little logical thought. It seems to be a viscous cycle: the economy is bad, thus consumers don't see any reason to be confident, thus the economy remains bad, because in order to get good, it requires some support from the consumers. How do you break the cycle? You need help from above, from the government. Thus economics becomes a political issue....
Republicans and Democrats hate each other (maybe we can make this an axiom), in particular republicans don't like Obama. In order for them to get rid of him, it's in their best interest to keep the economy in its current poor condition, because that's the only thing they have against him in the coming election. Isn't that sad when a political party fights against the good of the people? But it's a consequence of a conjecture, whose truth can be observed from time to time: As long as power is there to be had, politicians will be drawn to it at whatever cost. Principles be damned, there's the presidency to win! To be fair, I don't think democrats are any less blinded by the beacon of political power. Maybe a monarchy is better after all.
The thing that democracy has over a monarchy is the simplicity of change. If people don't like the way things are going, they don't have to get weapons and start a bloody revolt, the revolution happens at the voting polls. This principle only works if people have faith in the process, which is not the case in Russia. I've asked some of my students for their thoughts regarding Vladimir Putin's likely return as President of the Russian Federation - his candidacy in next year's election was announced a few weeks ago - the students who cared to comment said they weren't happy about it. It think some of them might have been catering to what they thought was a critical observer from the land of democracy, but I have nothing against Putin being President again, especially if he gets voted into office in a fair election. If the people like him as ruler of the land, then why not? I remember years ago (I think I may have already written this), when Putin was being interviewed by Larry King, and Larrry asked Putin about the possibility of becoming President again and whether that was really democratic, Putin retorted that as long as more citizens in America vote for one candidate while the other somehow wins the election, he didn't see any contradictions with the current principles of democracy.
As far as next year's election in Russia is concerned, judging by the few people I've spoken with about Putin over the past few years, I don't get the impression that he's as popular as the election results would make it seem. I get the impression that relatively few people vote. They don't vote because they think that no other party would do any better, which isn't to say that they feel the United Russia party is doing very well. I don't seldom hear that all politicians are crooks, I've been scolded for believeing otherwise about my own countries politicians. What this country seems to lack, and I cringe to say it, is faith in the political system. Yep. Russians need more faith; the blinder, the better! On the other hand, would Russia be a better place if the citizenry were as politically holy as me? A rival party or two may arise, but its members would buckle to the temptation of whatever increase in power they could win in the next election. The people would be as well represented as they are now.
Getting back to being blinded by power, I wasn't fair to the Republican party a few paragraphs ago. True, a bad economy is to their advantage, but contrary to popular liberal belief, they're not necessarily fighting Obama's policies for the sake of a bad economy, but for the sake of their political principles: they don't like spending money (unless it's for the military, but they don't like talking about that). Higher government spending translates to higher taxes down the road, and that's just not right! The republican party sticks to its rules, all of which are covered either in the bible, or Atlas Shrugged. The democratic party isn't as solid as that.
As long as I'm expressing blasphemy on the political front, I should try to wrap this up with a last cynical observation. While these days some politicians, principled as they may be, might not shy away from secretly supporting bad economic policy, the past centurty is filled with the same kind of politics. The trick is to stear the country into the right disaster, one which provides the political leverage to act decisively and effectively. Consider 9-11. Shortly afterward the Patriot Act was passed, the wars started, and Bush's approval rating soared; the people evidently thought he was handling the situation with presidential expertise. On the other hand, if 9-11 had been avoided, there wouldn't have been enough unity in Congress to allow wars in Afganistan and Iraq; President Bush wouldn't have been left to twidling his thumbs, and he wouldn't have had anything to put on his resume after his first four years. From a political standpoint, a disaster like 9-11 was a great source of results in the political arena. All the politician in power has to do is see it coming, and then let it happen. I don't know history very well, but even I can take a stab at finding other examples of the same phenomenon. Didn't the Vietnam war start with an alleged attack against an American cruiser? Was the war popular at first? And don't forget Pearl Harbor. Rumor has it that the Roosevelt administration knew it was coming. They wanted to get more involved in the war, so why do anything to stop a coming attack?
In contrast, America's current woes are seemingly less military than economical, as the country has been on and off the brink of complete disaster for a few times in the past few years. Liberals will say that while the stimulus hasn't restored the economy entirely, it has saved us from collapse. Without knowing what kind of collapse is meant, nobody can really appreciate whatever effect the stimulus packages may have had. It's like stopping a terrorist attack. If they catch the terrorists before they attack, then there isn't any credit for catching them afterwards. So let them attack; let the economy crumble. If we let it fall from as high as we are, maybe we can use the momentum from the downward tumble to jump back to an allbeit weaker, but more stable economy. Or maybe economic problems aren't as easy to take advantage of as when terrorists strike. Indeed, if people are out of work and hungry, they're quick to blame the party in power. It's strange that this hasn't been the case when we're attacked by an outside force; on the contrary, we're soothed when we see our missles and bombs blowing up buildings in far off lands on T.V.
9.10.11
And then there are rating agencies. I first heard of such agencies only a few years ago, where were they (or where was I) before that? They're the economic analogue of prophets from the bible. They tell members of the church where they should especially focus their faith if they want to be blessed with good returns from the economic gods. Lately the prophets bode dark tidings, damning entire countries like the U.S. and Italy with a holy curse called the downgrade. They can also perform the reverse incantation, and by doing so bring economic blessings to any country worthy of receiving such a charm. I heard recently that one agency was considering upgrading Russia's economy, if only some sector of some industry showed satifactory figures the following quarter. I can just see the agency members informing Russian economists with a wink and a handshake about a potential upgrade. Russians are notoriously corrupt; maybe it's a stereotype, but I know few Russians who would excuse it as such, which, to be fair, says little, since most Russians I know are cynical as can be regarding anything political.
Anyway, who are these prophets and why should we believe them? Funny how it works, if enough people believe them, then their prophecy comes true. Whatever they say is self-fulfilling. If, on the other hand, people ignored them, then they would cease to be. Maybe that's like God, or the number One. If there were no scientists, would One still exist?
I'm doing all right. I don't have Friday's off anymore, and I've had a little more work so far in Dolgoprudny than at the previous school. Next week a teacher is supposed to come back from vacation, and I'll be relieved of some of the groups I have been covering for him. I wonder what I'm going to get instead. In general, classes are better for me, the higher the level and the older the students. I'll keep my fingers crossed.
I think science is the best religion not only because it grows and corrects itself, but because it doesn't require much blind faith in the first place. In mathematics for example, you only have to acccept a few ideas such as the existence of the number one, the existence of addition which you can iteratively apply to pairs of one to get two, then three, and the rest; you accept that two points determine a line, and that a collection of positive integers has a smallest integer among them. I would like to say that these assumptions make sense, that I can conceive the idea of number and addition by holdind out first my pointer finger, then my middle finger, and behold, one and one make two, but I think that would be the analogue of observing the trees and the birds and concluding that god exists. So I'll be honest and say that I merely believe in the idea of one and its consequences. I can't justify my belief by saying I want to believe, my faith is as blind as any other.
But like I said, a scientist doesn't need to have much faith. There are relatively few things that need to be accepted outright before the ideas grow on their; own.idea begets the other, like generations of a living being. With christianity, where contradictions abound in the absence of logic, faith is an absolute necessity, and the less founded the faith, the better. A christian is often brought to the conclusion that their god works in mysterious ways, and that's the end of the discussion. For a scientist, the mystery is the beginning.
Is economics a science? There's something scientific about the principle of supply and demand, presumably you can observe it working again and again every day, yet economics seems to function with a greater factor of faith than one might expect in a science. Nobody calls it faith though, it's called consumer confidence. I'd like to believe that low confidence is a consequence of a bad economy, but isn't it also a little bit the other way around? If consumers are confident, then they invest money, and the economy grows and becomes stronger. So why don't consumers just decide to be confident, then the economy would be in good shape! I haven't had the pleasure of being enlightened in the mysteries of the economy, but maybe economics is enough of a science that it's susceptible to a little logical thought. It seems to be a viscous cycle: the economy is bad, thus consumers don't see any reason to be confident, thus the economy remains bad, because in order to get good, it requires some support from the consumers. How do you break the cycle? You need help from above, from the government. Thus economics becomes a political issue....
Republicans and Democrats hate each other (maybe we can make this an axiom), in particular republicans don't like Obama. In order for them to get rid of him, it's in their best interest to keep the economy in its current poor condition, because that's the only thing they have against him in the coming election. Isn't that sad when a political party fights against the good of the people? But it's a consequence of a conjecture, whose truth can be observed from time to time: As long as power is there to be had, politicians will be drawn to it at whatever cost. Principles be damned, there's the presidency to win! To be fair, I don't think democrats are any less blinded by the beacon of political power. Maybe a monarchy is better after all.
The thing that democracy has over a monarchy is the simplicity of change. If people don't like the way things are going, they don't have to get weapons and start a bloody revolt, the revolution happens at the voting polls. This principle only works if people have faith in the process, which is not the case in Russia. I've asked some of my students for their thoughts regarding Vladimir Putin's likely return as President of the Russian Federation - his candidacy in next year's election was announced a few weeks ago - the students who cared to comment said they weren't happy about it. It think some of them might have been catering to what they thought was a critical observer from the land of democracy, but I have nothing against Putin being President again, especially if he gets voted into office in a fair election. If the people like him as ruler of the land, then why not? I remember years ago (I think I may have already written this), when Putin was being interviewed by Larry King, and Larrry asked Putin about the possibility of becoming President again and whether that was really democratic, Putin retorted that as long as more citizens in America vote for one candidate while the other somehow wins the election, he didn't see any contradictions with the current principles of democracy.
As far as next year's election in Russia is concerned, judging by the few people I've spoken with about Putin over the past few years, I don't get the impression that he's as popular as the election results would make it seem. I get the impression that relatively few people vote. They don't vote because they think that no other party would do any better, which isn't to say that they feel the United Russia party is doing very well. I don't seldom hear that all politicians are crooks, I've been scolded for believeing otherwise about my own countries politicians. What this country seems to lack, and I cringe to say it, is faith in the political system. Yep. Russians need more faith; the blinder, the better! On the other hand, would Russia be a better place if the citizenry were as politically holy as me? A rival party or two may arise, but its members would buckle to the temptation of whatever increase in power they could win in the next election. The people would be as well represented as they are now.
Getting back to being blinded by power, I wasn't fair to the Republican party a few paragraphs ago. True, a bad economy is to their advantage, but contrary to popular liberal belief, they're not necessarily fighting Obama's policies for the sake of a bad economy, but for the sake of their political principles: they don't like spending money (unless it's for the military, but they don't like talking about that). Higher government spending translates to higher taxes down the road, and that's just not right! The republican party sticks to its rules, all of which are covered either in the bible, or Atlas Shrugged. The democratic party isn't as solid as that.
As long as I'm expressing blasphemy on the political front, I should try to wrap this up with a last cynical observation. While these days some politicians, principled as they may be, might not shy away from secretly supporting bad economic policy, the past centurty is filled with the same kind of politics. The trick is to stear the country into the right disaster, one which provides the political leverage to act decisively and effectively. Consider 9-11. Shortly afterward the Patriot Act was passed, the wars started, and Bush's approval rating soared; the people evidently thought he was handling the situation with presidential expertise. On the other hand, if 9-11 had been avoided, there wouldn't have been enough unity in Congress to allow wars in Afganistan and Iraq; President Bush wouldn't have been left to twidling his thumbs, and he wouldn't have had anything to put on his resume after his first four years. From a political standpoint, a disaster like 9-11 was a great source of results in the political arena. All the politician in power has to do is see it coming, and then let it happen. I don't know history very well, but even I can take a stab at finding other examples of the same phenomenon. Didn't the Vietnam war start with an alleged attack against an American cruiser? Was the war popular at first? And don't forget Pearl Harbor. Rumor has it that the Roosevelt administration knew it was coming. They wanted to get more involved in the war, so why do anything to stop a coming attack?
In contrast, America's current woes are seemingly less military than economical, as the country has been on and off the brink of complete disaster for a few times in the past few years. Liberals will say that while the stimulus hasn't restored the economy entirely, it has saved us from collapse. Without knowing what kind of collapse is meant, nobody can really appreciate whatever effect the stimulus packages may have had. It's like stopping a terrorist attack. If they catch the terrorists before they attack, then there isn't any credit for catching them afterwards. So let them attack; let the economy crumble. If we let it fall from as high as we are, maybe we can use the momentum from the downward tumble to jump back to an allbeit weaker, but more stable economy. Or maybe economic problems aren't as easy to take advantage of as when terrorists strike. Indeed, if people are out of work and hungry, they're quick to blame the party in power. It's strange that this hasn't been the case when we're attacked by an outside force; on the contrary, we're soothed when we see our missles and bombs blowing up buildings in far off lands on T.V.
9.10.11
And then there are rating agencies. I first heard of such agencies only a few years ago, where were they (or where was I) before that? They're the economic analogue of prophets from the bible. They tell members of the church where they should especially focus their faith if they want to be blessed with good returns from the economic gods. Lately the prophets bode dark tidings, damning entire countries like the U.S. and Italy with a holy curse called the downgrade. They can also perform the reverse incantation, and by doing so bring economic blessings to any country worthy of receiving such a charm. I heard recently that one agency was considering upgrading Russia's economy, if only some sector of some industry showed satifactory figures the following quarter. I can just see the agency members informing Russian economists with a wink and a handshake about a potential upgrade. Russians are notoriously corrupt; maybe it's a stereotype, but I know few Russians who would excuse it as such, which, to be fair, says little, since most Russians I know are cynical as can be regarding anything political.
Anyway, who are these prophets and why should we believe them? Funny how it works, if enough people believe them, then their prophecy comes true. Whatever they say is self-fulfilling. If, on the other hand, people ignored them, then they would cease to be. Maybe that's like God, or the number One. If there were no scientists, would One still exist?
I'm doing all right. I don't have Friday's off anymore, and I've had a little more work so far in Dolgoprudny than at the previous school. Next week a teacher is supposed to come back from vacation, and I'll be relieved of some of the groups I have been covering for him. I wonder what I'm going to get instead. In general, classes are better for me, the higher the level and the older the students. I'll keep my fingers crossed.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
25.9.11
Happiness is when Sunday evening comes, and you're looking forward to the coming week of work. I am not a happy man. But then, who is? I sure have a lot to be happy about. I live overseas, which I still find extremely fascinating and enriching; I only work four days a week, Monday through Thursday, giving me three day weekends on most weeks (I understand there will be things to do ocassionally on Sundays); the food here is good - what more could one ask? Nevertheless those four days haven't been easy, nor do they promise to get much easier. On work days I've usually been getting up around nine a.m., putzed around for forty minutes, started preparing for work around ten, left my flat around twelve to head to the central school to print out materials and make any necessary copies, arrived there after a forty-minute commute on the metro, left after an hour for the school where I work, which is only one metro stop from my flat, hence another forty minute commute back, arrived at the school, eaten lunch, made any final preparations for my lessons, if there was time, thought about the next days' work, then given lessons for two and a half and five and a half hours on Tuesday and Thursday, Monday and Wednesday respectively. There's a threat of getting another class on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, which will keep me at work until about ten p.m. Monday through Thursday. So the schedule is difficult to get used to. I don't really like eating dinner at eleven p.m., but there are good things about it too. I can sleep in on most days. It's give and take.
Needless to say, I've been an inefficient worker. I think I spend too much time planning. I've limited myself to mostly planning lessons on the same day; I try not to think about the next days' lesson until the next day comes, because I find that any one lesson might consume me completely and leave me with nothing left for the other classes I have to teach. There's always something that could be better, better explained, better presented, more interesting, instructive, organized, pertinent. Teaching English, maybe teaching in general, is a perfectionist's nightmare, because no matter what you do, your results are always far from perfect.
There were lots of interesting things in the news this week. I heard that a company in Germany tested a computer-driven car in downtown Berlin. There was a guy in the driver's seat who could've taken control of the car at any moment if the need arose, but it never did. The computer was able to deal with all the other cars around it, as well as stop signs and traffic lights. A spokesman suggested that within fifteen years or so, there would be computer-driven cars all over the place. I really like the idea. The word 'automobile' will take on new meaning. Imagine a highway filled with these new automobiles. Every passenger will have entered a destination at the beginning of their trip, the cars will wirelessly communicate with one another in order to negotiate onramps, exits and lane-changes. There wouldn't be nearly as much traffic. Private transportation will become much more efficient, without there being loss to any privacy or freedom. People can still drive in their cars whereever they want to. They won't, as I may have previously advocated, be forced to ride public trains or busses and then walk their fat asses a short distance to their final destination. I imagine that some people will be against the idea of letting a computer drive their car. And these people sort of burst my bubble about automated transportation, because it only takes a few bozos to turn off their computer to create a lot of problems on the road. Look, if everyone rode on autopilot, then the cars could see each other and communicate their intentions from far away, as though each car were a telepathic metal creature, travelling from point A to point B. Turning off the computer amounts to turning off the telepathy, and suddenly the creature becomes a retarded renegade that everyone else has to reckon with. What's the point of that? And yet, people will insist on driving their own car.
In other news, a group of physicists reportedly clocked some neutrinoes at a speed slightly faster than the speed of light. This is a big no-no according to the laws of physics. (Somebody call the particle police, we've got some speeders on the lose; but how are you going to catch them when they've got the fastest ride in the universe! Einstein come back!) Evidently, the leader of the group was inclined to believe that something was going wrong, but he couldn't figure out exactly what, so he just decided to publish the group's results, and let the scientific community rip them to shreds. That is, he wanted some help finding out what was going wrong. You have to appreciate this feature of science: It corrects itself. Either the community will find out what the group was doing wrong, have a few laughs, disregard the results, and carry on with life, or the results will be repeated by another scientist, and they will figure out how to proceed without Einstein, who will be replaced with someone more modern, just as he replaced Newton on his turn.
This self-correcting feature doesn't work so well with religious theories. I find that where scientific theories strive to grow, religions strive to remain constant. Try as they might to avoid it, they do change over time, but their stubborness goes a long way. Creationism, for example, has slowly given way to an idea more fit for survival in today's climate of thought, called intelligent design, and yet I bet there are still some presidential candidates out there who aren't ready to accept such a radical idea that God isn't watching us as much as sHe used to be. It makes me wonder how many centuries it took for Christians to accept that the earth revolves around the sun. But far be it from me to put science on a pedastal above religion; above Christianity, Islam, and maybe some other ideas, sure, but not above religion as a whole. In the end, science itself is a religion. Its God is Logic; it's Commandments are known as the Scientific Method; it's language is mathematics, something so divine it hardly requires translation between any of our menial spoken languages; it has its disciples and prophets, whose connection to God is remarkably strong. But what sets it apart from many other religions is its continual development. Science doesn't change and grow reluctantly, it grows, because that's what it is supposed to do. Science maybe be but a form of religion, but it's the best one out there.
1.10.11
Hello from Dolgoprudny. I've left Moscow and relocated to the suburb I was supposed to go originally. It all happened pretty quickly. Last Monday the director at the school I was working told me she had been informed that I was to start at Dolgoprudny the following week. Funny I hadn't been informed, I told her. She wasn't happy that I was leaving. She said from the beginning that I should tell the administration to keep me at the school. I was glad to hear that she was happy with me, but couldn't answer her request with sincere gusto, since I wasn't sure I wanted to stay.
The following day I went into the central school to ask them about my relocating. I did in fact indicate that I would have been happy with staying where I was (although I could have been a little more enthusiastic), but I was told that teachers' placements at various schools had already long since been decided, that I was going to move to a very nice flat, everything was going to be fantastic, and that they would be in touch with me regarding the timing details. I left the office not completely disappointed, though not beaming with glee either: In my first three weeks back in a teachers' boots I'd grown accustomed to my work and living place, now I was about to role the dice again to see if I get dealt a better hand. The more I thought about it, the more I felt satisfied with my current situation and the more apprehensive I became about the coming move.
At work that afternoon I got an email about moving to my new apartment - did I prefer moving the next day, or the day after, when I was scheduled to give my first lessons? I answered that with current lessons scheduled for tomorrow, there's no way I could move the next day. I asked if I could move on the weekend and commute for a few days from my current apartment. I got mixed answers.
I went back to the central school again the following day to sign my class assignment forms and get my textbooks and accompanying audio CDs. This was where the dice were roled. I walked into the office not knowing if I was going to be assigned nothing but groups of snot nosed ten year olds whose proficiency in the English amounts to having seen the latin alphabet a few times before. I did get assigned one class of the sort, except instead of ten year olds, the students are between four and six years old.
Fortunately there are only five of them, and only three of them showed up on the first day. That was hard enough. Challenges abound when the students know nothing and don't really see the importance of learning. We spent the first lesson trying to learn the words for members of a family: mother, father, daughter, son. We didn't get to sister and brother. We attacked phrases like 'I'm Peter,' but 'What is your name?' proved to be a little too much for them. I figure they might think of that phrase as one really long word which is hard to say. If I'm not sharing that class with one of the other teachers, then next time we'll start the alphabet and writing some of those simple phrases. I have a big classroom, and the kids have lots of energy, so I'll have to get them running from one corner to another, maybe chasing letters and numbers (I'll have to tape these up before class).
Fortunately, that's my only permanent class of really young people. I am covering a few classes of the same sort of group I had been struggling with at my temporary assignment, the group of little monsters (who suddenly, after my lesson with the five year olds, aren't so little anymore), but this group pleased me better. I think their level of English is not as varied as in the group I left behind, which makes it easier to keep students focused together.
I had those two class on my first day, and finished that day with a group of adults with a much higher level, which made things more interesting for me. The next day I had two very small groups of teenagers at beginning and intermediate levels respectively, and then a group of five adults at the beginning level. We worked on statements like: I am Russian; I am not from the moon; He is this; He isn't that; We are this; we aren't that; Are we/you/they from the moon? It can be pretty difficult if you haven't studied much English.
And now it's the weekend, and here I am. I just had a pot of Pete's spicy pea soup. I put some tomatoes and bell peppers in it this time because they still haven't got too expensive and I might as well eat them while they last. Food here is cheap. Regarding budget, an apple addict such as myself is surprisingly better off in Russia than in an agricultural wonderland like California.
Happiness is when Sunday evening comes, and you're looking forward to the coming week of work. I am not a happy man. But then, who is? I sure have a lot to be happy about. I live overseas, which I still find extremely fascinating and enriching; I only work four days a week, Monday through Thursday, giving me three day weekends on most weeks (I understand there will be things to do ocassionally on Sundays); the food here is good - what more could one ask? Nevertheless those four days haven't been easy, nor do they promise to get much easier. On work days I've usually been getting up around nine a.m., putzed around for forty minutes, started preparing for work around ten, left my flat around twelve to head to the central school to print out materials and make any necessary copies, arrived there after a forty-minute commute on the metro, left after an hour for the school where I work, which is only one metro stop from my flat, hence another forty minute commute back, arrived at the school, eaten lunch, made any final preparations for my lessons, if there was time, thought about the next days' work, then given lessons for two and a half and five and a half hours on Tuesday and Thursday, Monday and Wednesday respectively. There's a threat of getting another class on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, which will keep me at work until about ten p.m. Monday through Thursday. So the schedule is difficult to get used to. I don't really like eating dinner at eleven p.m., but there are good things about it too. I can sleep in on most days. It's give and take.
Needless to say, I've been an inefficient worker. I think I spend too much time planning. I've limited myself to mostly planning lessons on the same day; I try not to think about the next days' lesson until the next day comes, because I find that any one lesson might consume me completely and leave me with nothing left for the other classes I have to teach. There's always something that could be better, better explained, better presented, more interesting, instructive, organized, pertinent. Teaching English, maybe teaching in general, is a perfectionist's nightmare, because no matter what you do, your results are always far from perfect.
There were lots of interesting things in the news this week. I heard that a company in Germany tested a computer-driven car in downtown Berlin. There was a guy in the driver's seat who could've taken control of the car at any moment if the need arose, but it never did. The computer was able to deal with all the other cars around it, as well as stop signs and traffic lights. A spokesman suggested that within fifteen years or so, there would be computer-driven cars all over the place. I really like the idea. The word 'automobile' will take on new meaning. Imagine a highway filled with these new automobiles. Every passenger will have entered a destination at the beginning of their trip, the cars will wirelessly communicate with one another in order to negotiate onramps, exits and lane-changes. There wouldn't be nearly as much traffic. Private transportation will become much more efficient, without there being loss to any privacy or freedom. People can still drive in their cars whereever they want to. They won't, as I may have previously advocated, be forced to ride public trains or busses and then walk their fat asses a short distance to their final destination. I imagine that some people will be against the idea of letting a computer drive their car. And these people sort of burst my bubble about automated transportation, because it only takes a few bozos to turn off their computer to create a lot of problems on the road. Look, if everyone rode on autopilot, then the cars could see each other and communicate their intentions from far away, as though each car were a telepathic metal creature, travelling from point A to point B. Turning off the computer amounts to turning off the telepathy, and suddenly the creature becomes a retarded renegade that everyone else has to reckon with. What's the point of that? And yet, people will insist on driving their own car.
In other news, a group of physicists reportedly clocked some neutrinoes at a speed slightly faster than the speed of light. This is a big no-no according to the laws of physics. (Somebody call the particle police, we've got some speeders on the lose; but how are you going to catch them when they've got the fastest ride in the universe! Einstein come back!) Evidently, the leader of the group was inclined to believe that something was going wrong, but he couldn't figure out exactly what, so he just decided to publish the group's results, and let the scientific community rip them to shreds. That is, he wanted some help finding out what was going wrong. You have to appreciate this feature of science: It corrects itself. Either the community will find out what the group was doing wrong, have a few laughs, disregard the results, and carry on with life, or the results will be repeated by another scientist, and they will figure out how to proceed without Einstein, who will be replaced with someone more modern, just as he replaced Newton on his turn.
This self-correcting feature doesn't work so well with religious theories. I find that where scientific theories strive to grow, religions strive to remain constant. Try as they might to avoid it, they do change over time, but their stubborness goes a long way. Creationism, for example, has slowly given way to an idea more fit for survival in today's climate of thought, called intelligent design, and yet I bet there are still some presidential candidates out there who aren't ready to accept such a radical idea that God isn't watching us as much as sHe used to be. It makes me wonder how many centuries it took for Christians to accept that the earth revolves around the sun. But far be it from me to put science on a pedastal above religion; above Christianity, Islam, and maybe some other ideas, sure, but not above religion as a whole. In the end, science itself is a religion. Its God is Logic; it's Commandments are known as the Scientific Method; it's language is mathematics, something so divine it hardly requires translation between any of our menial spoken languages; it has its disciples and prophets, whose connection to God is remarkably strong. But what sets it apart from many other religions is its continual development. Science doesn't change and grow reluctantly, it grows, because that's what it is supposed to do. Science maybe be but a form of religion, but it's the best one out there.
1.10.11
Hello from Dolgoprudny. I've left Moscow and relocated to the suburb I was supposed to go originally. It all happened pretty quickly. Last Monday the director at the school I was working told me she had been informed that I was to start at Dolgoprudny the following week. Funny I hadn't been informed, I told her. She wasn't happy that I was leaving. She said from the beginning that I should tell the administration to keep me at the school. I was glad to hear that she was happy with me, but couldn't answer her request with sincere gusto, since I wasn't sure I wanted to stay.
The following day I went into the central school to ask them about my relocating. I did in fact indicate that I would have been happy with staying where I was (although I could have been a little more enthusiastic), but I was told that teachers' placements at various schools had already long since been decided, that I was going to move to a very nice flat, everything was going to be fantastic, and that they would be in touch with me regarding the timing details. I left the office not completely disappointed, though not beaming with glee either: In my first three weeks back in a teachers' boots I'd grown accustomed to my work and living place, now I was about to role the dice again to see if I get dealt a better hand. The more I thought about it, the more I felt satisfied with my current situation and the more apprehensive I became about the coming move.
At work that afternoon I got an email about moving to my new apartment - did I prefer moving the next day, or the day after, when I was scheduled to give my first lessons? I answered that with current lessons scheduled for tomorrow, there's no way I could move the next day. I asked if I could move on the weekend and commute for a few days from my current apartment. I got mixed answers.
I went back to the central school again the following day to sign my class assignment forms and get my textbooks and accompanying audio CDs. This was where the dice were roled. I walked into the office not knowing if I was going to be assigned nothing but groups of snot nosed ten year olds whose proficiency in the English amounts to having seen the latin alphabet a few times before. I did get assigned one class of the sort, except instead of ten year olds, the students are between four and six years old.
Fortunately there are only five of them, and only three of them showed up on the first day. That was hard enough. Challenges abound when the students know nothing and don't really see the importance of learning. We spent the first lesson trying to learn the words for members of a family: mother, father, daughter, son. We didn't get to sister and brother. We attacked phrases like 'I'm Peter,' but 'What is your name?' proved to be a little too much for them. I figure they might think of that phrase as one really long word which is hard to say. If I'm not sharing that class with one of the other teachers, then next time we'll start the alphabet and writing some of those simple phrases. I have a big classroom, and the kids have lots of energy, so I'll have to get them running from one corner to another, maybe chasing letters and numbers (I'll have to tape these up before class).
Fortunately, that's my only permanent class of really young people. I am covering a few classes of the same sort of group I had been struggling with at my temporary assignment, the group of little monsters (who suddenly, after my lesson with the five year olds, aren't so little anymore), but this group pleased me better. I think their level of English is not as varied as in the group I left behind, which makes it easier to keep students focused together.
I had those two class on my first day, and finished that day with a group of adults with a much higher level, which made things more interesting for me. The next day I had two very small groups of teenagers at beginning and intermediate levels respectively, and then a group of five adults at the beginning level. We worked on statements like: I am Russian; I am not from the moon; He is this; He isn't that; We are this; we aren't that; Are we/you/they from the moon? It can be pretty difficult if you haven't studied much English.
And now it's the weekend, and here I am. I just had a pot of Pete's spicy pea soup. I put some tomatoes and bell peppers in it this time because they still haven't got too expensive and I might as well eat them while they last. Food here is cheap. Regarding budget, an apple addict such as myself is surprisingly better off in Russia than in an agricultural wonderland like California.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
10.9.11
I arrived in Moscow yesterday. My flight got in at one p.m., and it only took me about a half an hour to get through passport control and find my luggage. The weather was cloudy with light rain. I walked up to the blob of people in front of the passport control booths (I say 'blob' because people don't form lines very well in this country), looked out the window and took in the grey view and thought to myself, welcome back. I mean, I had wanted to see a few clouds, right? I always say that sunshine every day gets to be boring as hell, right? That's all true, but yesterday the sky couldn't have looked much drearier, and going from one meteorologic extreme too another wasn't going to ease the shock of returning to another life. Fortunately, I found my way into one of the smaller subblobs of people, got through control without any hassle, and as I walked through the gate, found my luggage right away on the carousel before me.
I got through customs, which was a much more steadily moving blob through another entryway, but couldn't find my ride right away. There were people holding up signs of all sorts, some with names of people on them, others with names of companies. There were also plenty of taxi drivers there, floating around like parasites waiting for their next victim. They weren't very tenacious though, you just had to say no, and they left you alone. So I followed the blob between two crowds of people holding signs and taxi drivers, but nobody had a Language Link sign out, nor a sign with my name. I stepped aside and found a place with a better view. It didn't take long before I found my guy. I think he hadn't been standing there before, when I first came through, but I was about a half and hour early, so I didn't blame him. I followed him to a Language Link eurowagon - one of those cars that looks like a box on wheels. He helped me put my things in the back, and we were off.
The traffic was horrible. The driver said that Friday afternoons are especially bad, I guess because people are coming into the city for the weekend. Had there been no traffic, we could've reached my flat in half an hour, as it was it took two. When we got there, the driver helped me bring my suitcases up to the apartment, handed me my keys and took off.
My room is not as impressive as the one I had in Rostov two years ago, but it has everything I need: a place to sleep and a place to cook. Right now I'm sitting at a desk of sorts. It's more like a cabinet with three large shelves. The middle one has one door which opens downwards, and, when fully open and parallel to the floor, makes for a good surface to write on. There's a large window to my left, but the view doesn't compare with what I had last year in Vladimir, which doesn't say much, because the view there was really nice. I'm only on the second floor here. I can see a narrow street below with two cars parked within my view. Someone just walked by with their dog. Across the street there's a row of tall trees that greatly obstruct my view, but behind them I can see the top of another apartment building, so I'm glad the trees are there. It looks like there might be some sort of park between the trees and the building behind. I see benches.
When I arrived yesterday, I wasn't sure whom I should contact about my arrival. I'm such an idiot that I forgot the slip of paper with a secratary's number on it which I was to call in case anything happened, like if they didn't let me on the plane in Houston because they didn't like the way my passport looked (this happened to me once in Frankfurt when I was carrying a pretty shabby passport), or if I couldn't find the driver at the airport, which could have happened had I not been a little patient. When I realized that I had left the number on a desk at home, I figured that in the worst case I'd stay at a hostel I know in Moscow, find an internet connection and contact my employer.
Come to think of it, staying in the hostel wouldn't have been the worst case. I couldn't help but think as I walked through customs and began to flow through two crowds of people on both sides, that that was the very spot of a suicide bombing attack last March. A few people had been killed and many had been injured at that spot where I walked yesterday. Some people were at the wrong place at the wrong time, and I was at the very same place at a much better time. Incidentally, tomorrow is the tenth aniversary of the attacks on the twin towers. For some reason, I felt that if there were going to be an attack of any sort around this time of year, it probably wouldn't be in Moscow, and hell, even if something bad were to happen, it's best not to think about it beforehand. You go through customs like you board a plane or get into a car. What am I suggesting? Ah hell, it's best not to think about it.
16.9.11
It's Friday. The first week of work is over, now I have my first three day weekend. It sounded too good to be true when I heard that I'd be working only four days a week. Now I understand how hard earned my three-day weekends are going to be. I have five groups of students so far, of them only one group of adults, three groups of teenagers, and one group of little devils. It looks like I'll get another group of adults sometime before November.
Teaching adults has been fun in the past, but the group I have now is at such a low level that the course won't be the most interesting for me. My most advanced group has eight teenagers. We reviewed seven verb tenses on the very first day, and it seems nobody had any serious problems. That's intimidating for me. What do I do with such an advanced group? We have a textbook to go by; it would be too easy to toss the schedule and breeze through it quickly, which is a big no no.
This situation calls for supplementary materials, which a teacher can find in other books, or, what I prefer, come up with their own. Implementing your own ideas is what makes teaching a creative activity. I suppose after a few years of going over the same textbook and the same topics over and over again teaching could become a routine job eventually, but even after two years of teaching English, and especially after a year off from the profession, the job is still extremely challenging. How do I explain a certain idea to my students who don't speak or understand English all that well? How do you present the concept, what examples are expecially illustrative, how can they be practiced effectively, so that it's understandable and interesting at the same time?
This is all the more challenging the lower the level of English proficiency and the younger the students. These two factors, proficiency and age, are brought to bear in my class of little devils. They're not that little, I'd say eleven years old on average. Lucky for me there is only one class of them, and my personal classroom doesn't fit many more than eight students. Of the eight, five or six are at the level I would expect, only one seems to neither know much English nor care much about learning, and he hasn't been as much of a disturbance as a student with little knowledge and motivation can potentially be. Many of them seem to like drawing. I'll have to use this...
I still would like to take advantage of the fact that I'm in Russia. I don't expect to learn much more Russian, escpecially in comparison to last year, when I had the luxury of not having to work and wasn't obligated to speak and think in English so much of the time, but this year I should at least practice all the stuff I have learned. One thing I really like about Russian culture is that people love reading. I've ridden the metro almost every day since my arrival, and it's uncanny how many passangers you find there reading. They read novels, textbooks, newspapers. They read paperback, hardback, or these new Amazon electronic readers, which spares a bookworm from having to lug books around with them; some of them don't read on the specialized electronic readers, but read stuff off their cell-phones just as well. I've become a metro reader myself, with my copy of Dostoevski's "Igrok" (The gambler(?)).
The love for reading is also reflected in the number of places books are sold and the average price of books. I've mentioned unfortunate things about Russia, things I've come to sarcastically call "Welcome to Russia" moments, such as the unability to form a line of people, the lack of drinking fountains, or even the danger of drinking tap water. But it's the bookstores that really do make me feel welcome. I have to say, going into Copperfields in Napa, California, seemingly the only bookstore left in a city of about one hundred thousand people, where I find that the books on sale sell for fifteen dollars and up, and a decent audio book costs thirty dollars, that is a classic "Welcome to America" moment. Maybe the prices are so high there because the bookstore has to compete with people buying books over the internet, which is possible because there's such an effective postal system, which can't be said about every other country (Welcome to Russia), but still I wonder if demand plays a factor in the price. And it's not the classic curve where higher demand means higher price. If books were too expensive over here, the government knows that there would be trouble, so they see to it that the prices stay low.
I studied some Spanish over the summer, and am interested in not dropping it entirely, so I went down to the House of Books on the New Arbat street, and found a one copy each in Spanish and Russian of "Alive in Wonderland." I haven't read so much yet. If I can finish it by Christmas, that would be success. More likely is that I won't get anywhere, but that's not the end of the world. I'll bring the books home in either case, and if I do get nowhere, I can pick up the project at a later time. I also bought a book by a Russian mystery writer, Akunin, the first in his series of novels featuring Erast Petrovic, a young detective. His books were much more difficult to read in the past. Now I feel as if some of my studies have finally sunk in. In a sense, the summer break from Russian may have done me some good.
17.9.11
OK, I think I've written my first entry of a new blog. Regarding the title, in lieu of something simpler like "Life in Moscow" I chose something more metaphoric. After all, it has been said that life is a marathon. For me, a new place or occupation often entails almost a new life entirely, whereby elements of previous lives come along for the ride. So here I am, at the beginning of the next competition with myself. How well can I run it? Will I be stronger at the end of the year, or will I have torn my teaching muscles to shreds? Slow and steady may not always win the race, but it will get you to the finish line in one piece, and may first impression of this leg in life is daunting enough that I feel I should refrain from pushing myself too much.
Incidentally, the Moscow marathon took place today. I looked into registering a few days ago. I had a good long run in the week before I left Napa, I thought I might take it easy on a half marathon if there were spots left, but it was already too late. I wonder if that's a bad omen?
I arrived in Moscow yesterday. My flight got in at one p.m., and it only took me about a half an hour to get through passport control and find my luggage. The weather was cloudy with light rain. I walked up to the blob of people in front of the passport control booths (I say 'blob' because people don't form lines very well in this country), looked out the window and took in the grey view and thought to myself, welcome back. I mean, I had wanted to see a few clouds, right? I always say that sunshine every day gets to be boring as hell, right? That's all true, but yesterday the sky couldn't have looked much drearier, and going from one meteorologic extreme too another wasn't going to ease the shock of returning to another life. Fortunately, I found my way into one of the smaller subblobs of people, got through control without any hassle, and as I walked through the gate, found my luggage right away on the carousel before me.
I got through customs, which was a much more steadily moving blob through another entryway, but couldn't find my ride right away. There were people holding up signs of all sorts, some with names of people on them, others with names of companies. There were also plenty of taxi drivers there, floating around like parasites waiting for their next victim. They weren't very tenacious though, you just had to say no, and they left you alone. So I followed the blob between two crowds of people holding signs and taxi drivers, but nobody had a Language Link sign out, nor a sign with my name. I stepped aside and found a place with a better view. It didn't take long before I found my guy. I think he hadn't been standing there before, when I first came through, but I was about a half and hour early, so I didn't blame him. I followed him to a Language Link eurowagon - one of those cars that looks like a box on wheels. He helped me put my things in the back, and we were off.
The traffic was horrible. The driver said that Friday afternoons are especially bad, I guess because people are coming into the city for the weekend. Had there been no traffic, we could've reached my flat in half an hour, as it was it took two. When we got there, the driver helped me bring my suitcases up to the apartment, handed me my keys and took off.
My room is not as impressive as the one I had in Rostov two years ago, but it has everything I need: a place to sleep and a place to cook. Right now I'm sitting at a desk of sorts. It's more like a cabinet with three large shelves. The middle one has one door which opens downwards, and, when fully open and parallel to the floor, makes for a good surface to write on. There's a large window to my left, but the view doesn't compare with what I had last year in Vladimir, which doesn't say much, because the view there was really nice. I'm only on the second floor here. I can see a narrow street below with two cars parked within my view. Someone just walked by with their dog. Across the street there's a row of tall trees that greatly obstruct my view, but behind them I can see the top of another apartment building, so I'm glad the trees are there. It looks like there might be some sort of park between the trees and the building behind. I see benches.
When I arrived yesterday, I wasn't sure whom I should contact about my arrival. I'm such an idiot that I forgot the slip of paper with a secratary's number on it which I was to call in case anything happened, like if they didn't let me on the plane in Houston because they didn't like the way my passport looked (this happened to me once in Frankfurt when I was carrying a pretty shabby passport), or if I couldn't find the driver at the airport, which could have happened had I not been a little patient. When I realized that I had left the number on a desk at home, I figured that in the worst case I'd stay at a hostel I know in Moscow, find an internet connection and contact my employer.
Come to think of it, staying in the hostel wouldn't have been the worst case. I couldn't help but think as I walked through customs and began to flow through two crowds of people on both sides, that that was the very spot of a suicide bombing attack last March. A few people had been killed and many had been injured at that spot where I walked yesterday. Some people were at the wrong place at the wrong time, and I was at the very same place at a much better time. Incidentally, tomorrow is the tenth aniversary of the attacks on the twin towers. For some reason, I felt that if there were going to be an attack of any sort around this time of year, it probably wouldn't be in Moscow, and hell, even if something bad were to happen, it's best not to think about it beforehand. You go through customs like you board a plane or get into a car. What am I suggesting? Ah hell, it's best not to think about it.
16.9.11
It's Friday. The first week of work is over, now I have my first three day weekend. It sounded too good to be true when I heard that I'd be working only four days a week. Now I understand how hard earned my three-day weekends are going to be. I have five groups of students so far, of them only one group of adults, three groups of teenagers, and one group of little devils. It looks like I'll get another group of adults sometime before November.
Teaching adults has been fun in the past, but the group I have now is at such a low level that the course won't be the most interesting for me. My most advanced group has eight teenagers. We reviewed seven verb tenses on the very first day, and it seems nobody had any serious problems. That's intimidating for me. What do I do with such an advanced group? We have a textbook to go by; it would be too easy to toss the schedule and breeze through it quickly, which is a big no no.
This situation calls for supplementary materials, which a teacher can find in other books, or, what I prefer, come up with their own. Implementing your own ideas is what makes teaching a creative activity. I suppose after a few years of going over the same textbook and the same topics over and over again teaching could become a routine job eventually, but even after two years of teaching English, and especially after a year off from the profession, the job is still extremely challenging. How do I explain a certain idea to my students who don't speak or understand English all that well? How do you present the concept, what examples are expecially illustrative, how can they be practiced effectively, so that it's understandable and interesting at the same time?
This is all the more challenging the lower the level of English proficiency and the younger the students. These two factors, proficiency and age, are brought to bear in my class of little devils. They're not that little, I'd say eleven years old on average. Lucky for me there is only one class of them, and my personal classroom doesn't fit many more than eight students. Of the eight, five or six are at the level I would expect, only one seems to neither know much English nor care much about learning, and he hasn't been as much of a disturbance as a student with little knowledge and motivation can potentially be. Many of them seem to like drawing. I'll have to use this...
I still would like to take advantage of the fact that I'm in Russia. I don't expect to learn much more Russian, escpecially in comparison to last year, when I had the luxury of not having to work and wasn't obligated to speak and think in English so much of the time, but this year I should at least practice all the stuff I have learned. One thing I really like about Russian culture is that people love reading. I've ridden the metro almost every day since my arrival, and it's uncanny how many passangers you find there reading. They read novels, textbooks, newspapers. They read paperback, hardback, or these new Amazon electronic readers, which spares a bookworm from having to lug books around with them; some of them don't read on the specialized electronic readers, but read stuff off their cell-phones just as well. I've become a metro reader myself, with my copy of Dostoevski's "Igrok" (The gambler(?)).
The love for reading is also reflected in the number of places books are sold and the average price of books. I've mentioned unfortunate things about Russia, things I've come to sarcastically call "Welcome to Russia" moments, such as the unability to form a line of people, the lack of drinking fountains, or even the danger of drinking tap water. But it's the bookstores that really do make me feel welcome. I have to say, going into Copperfields in Napa, California, seemingly the only bookstore left in a city of about one hundred thousand people, where I find that the books on sale sell for fifteen dollars and up, and a decent audio book costs thirty dollars, that is a classic "Welcome to America" moment. Maybe the prices are so high there because the bookstore has to compete with people buying books over the internet, which is possible because there's such an effective postal system, which can't be said about every other country (Welcome to Russia), but still I wonder if demand plays a factor in the price. And it's not the classic curve where higher demand means higher price. If books were too expensive over here, the government knows that there would be trouble, so they see to it that the prices stay low.
I studied some Spanish over the summer, and am interested in not dropping it entirely, so I went down to the House of Books on the New Arbat street, and found a one copy each in Spanish and Russian of "Alive in Wonderland." I haven't read so much yet. If I can finish it by Christmas, that would be success. More likely is that I won't get anywhere, but that's not the end of the world. I'll bring the books home in either case, and if I do get nowhere, I can pick up the project at a later time. I also bought a book by a Russian mystery writer, Akunin, the first in his series of novels featuring Erast Petrovic, a young detective. His books were much more difficult to read in the past. Now I feel as if some of my studies have finally sunk in. In a sense, the summer break from Russian may have done me some good.
17.9.11
OK, I think I've written my first entry of a new blog. Regarding the title, in lieu of something simpler like "Life in Moscow" I chose something more metaphoric. After all, it has been said that life is a marathon. For me, a new place or occupation often entails almost a new life entirely, whereby elements of previous lives come along for the ride. So here I am, at the beginning of the next competition with myself. How well can I run it? Will I be stronger at the end of the year, or will I have torn my teaching muscles to shreds? Slow and steady may not always win the race, but it will get you to the finish line in one piece, and may first impression of this leg in life is daunting enough that I feel I should refrain from pushing myself too much.
Incidentally, the Moscow marathon took place today. I looked into registering a few days ago. I had a good long run in the week before I left Napa, I thought I might take it easy on a half marathon if there were spots left, but it was already too late. I wonder if that's a bad omen?
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